


From The Start

by penceyprat



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Dealing with their feelings, F/M, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Matty is really bad at dealing with his problems, Poet Matty, Sexuality Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 107,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matty's not co-dependent exactly, just very attached, and he's coping, and it's not like anything's happened, it has, because George is allowed to have girlfriends, because Matty and George were never exclusive, they were never anything really, it's just that Matty would like to think that there was something, and that that something was more than wishful thinking, but he reckons it's too late for that now.</p>
<p>It was bad enough seeing George kiss her. Maybe it would have been fine if he'd just reacted like a normal person about it, but no, Matty didn't speak to anyone for days, and George moved out to live with her, like Matty can blame him, and Matty's had what is easily the most depressing four months of his life, because it's come to the point where he's sure he hates George, except, he doesn't, not really, because it's Matty's fault, if anyone's, even though he's yet to get his head around it.</p>
<p>But then before Matty really knows what's happening George has broken up with his girlfriend, and needs somewhere to stay for a while before he can sort things out, and Ross is just kind enough to volunteer Matty's house - he has a spare room, after all. It used to be George's room, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matty Is Really Great At Dealing With His Problems

Whether by sunlight or moonlight or something in between, he sat at his desk and he watched the sky, for it held that certain kind of beauty that reigned without dispute, and in a world of question marks and ever changing situations, he really reckoned he needed that.

There was no certainty in a world governed by opinion and free will, and although that was where the beauty lay, such beauty was coupled with the anxiety that spanned for days: cold fingertips tapping on windowpanes as brown eyes glassed over and fixated upon the world outside and how it kept raining, through spring and into summer. He watched the drops against the glass, and contemplated how long it would stay cold, and for how long he’d find evenings drawing in too soon, and the morning light leaving him lying sleepless in his sheets at five am.

Matty was no good when it came to functioning alone, and it had never intended to be as such: this was a house for two, after all, but things had happened, as things always did, because there was no such thing as certainty, and far too much rain, and he missed the sounds of the kitchen as he sat at his desk; he missed the house being lived in, because like this, he felt like some kind of ghost.

He was big on codependency, yet despised the concept of it, but at twenty six years of age, it was becoming increasingly apparent that Matty just could not function alone. It wasn’t that he needed to move back in with his mum or anything, or that he couldn’t function, because he could; he knew exactly how to use a microwave and not all of his clothes had turned pink in the wash, thank you very much.

It was loneliness, he had concluded.  _ Ross _ had concluded, because Ross was something like his mother: always calling to check that everything was alright, because Matty knew that his friends were certain of the fact that there was something very off with him, but Matty was also very well aware that they most certainly couldn’t pinpoint it. He wanted them to think he was fine, because he was fine, he was just, just kind of stuck: stuck in bed, stuck watching the rain, stuck with all the curtains open, stuck in the same shirt for the past week, stuck in himself, stuck in his own mind.

Self expression was key for positivity and functionality, especially in his case; he was big on words, and as they lodged themselves up in his mind he became fixated and the world grew out of focus and hours became days stood at the windowsill: watching the rain, wondering when, if ever, it might stop, and it always did, and Matty relied on that. He needed answers, he needed stability; he needed words down on paper - he needed the words in ink, the structure of it all, and the way there was some physical proof laying beside him on his desk to prove that he wasn’t a complete waste of space, but his head was empty: empty like never before, and there was nothing but a still and quiet house that was just a little too cold to walk around barefoot in the mornings in.

He was a poet, or something like that, because he reckoned that to describe himself properly as a poet he ought to have produced some form of poetry worthy of renown or at least moderate appreciation, but all he found himself acquainted with was his desk, his typewriter, and the waste paper basket.

Ross told him he had self confidence issues, and some other bullshit about not doubting himself, but at that point, Matty had tuned out of the conversation and put the phone on speaker and down onto the kitchen countertop, before rushing off to the bathroom. By the time he’d returned, he found that Ross was still rambling on about self-appreciation and how he should take the time out of his day to share his work with others, and how he had potential, and how he should go out more, and how he should go out to eat with them.

Matty was running out of excuses to politely decline going out to eat with, and was now coming very close to declaring himself as a very strict vegan or something, but that was of course a lie that he would not be able to maintain.

It wasn’t that Matty was anti-social, or anything, except he kind of was, but it was just all that had happened over the past few months; he’d been fine before, but he’d just gotten himself into, well, quite the mess, to say the least.

It had been January 1st, approximately twenty seven minutes past midnight and the new year was celebrated with drinks and friends and new year’s partying and the kind of posh champagne that Matty really couldn’t afford, but didn’t drink because as much as the occasion called for it, he really couldn’t bring himself to drink champagne. He got himself wasted on vodka - it was the kind that came in pretty colours, and he’d already gotten baked so he was naturally drawn to the stuff, and everything had been fine, until it came to the matter of, well… when it came to heavy drinking, there always was the downwards spiral, and that downwards spiral came half an hour afterwards the worst new year’s kiss (some girl that was stood closest to him - he reckoned that maybe they’d once sat next to each other in geography in like year 10 or something - it had really been for the sake of it, because it was tradition, and all that nonsense, and he just wanted to say he had done), he found himself trapezing down towards the bathroom: ready to puke his guts out and spend a good ten minutes sat on the bathroom floor regretting his life, but Matty had never quite made it to puking in the toilet.

He’d opened the bathroom door; he’d made a significant amount of progress, and considering just how many fucking stairs Ross had in his house, getting from the top floor where he’d been previously, to the bottom floor where the nice bathroom lay situated - Ross and Matty had been friends since they were twelve, of course Matty had a prefered bathroom to use in his house. However, as he had opened the door, he found himself faced not with an easy path to the toilet, or even with someone using it, but having forgotten to lock the door-  _ well, _ someone had forgotten to lock the door, but it had been a different case entirely.

It had been Saffy who’d went to school with him (and seriously what kind of a name was Saffy?) pushed up against the wall by a very familiar pair of hands; he was leaning down to reach her, because he was well over six foot, and some form of big friendly giant, yet Matty Healy found nothing big or friendly in the way his roommate, best friend, potential love interest, George Daniel appeared to be sucking Saffy from school’s face off. Well,  _ ex- _ roommate,  _ ex- _ best friend,  _ ex- _ potential love interest.

Matty had made the expert decision in just standing there in shock, and missing the toilet completely: resulting in him puking all over the floor, before catching George’s gaze, who looked somewhat horrified to see him, or maybe just with the fact that he’d puked all over the floor, but Matty hadn’t stuck around to see what George had wanted and instead ran out of the house, and into the street, which had not been one of his best decisions at half past midnight on New Year’s Day, but he was certain he knew the way home from Ross’ house, as it wasn’t far after all, but Matty had been wrong, or at least too drunk, and woken up on a park bench a good forty minutes away at eight that morning.

He’d come home: severely hungover and severely pissed off to find George waiting at the door for him, but he’d walked straight past him, because he absolutely could not be bothered to deal with that shit not then, not ever, and at first, George had thought nothing of it - that Matty would come around, because they hadn’t really had a real thing, they’d just had that drunken snog once and then Matty had written that poem that was so definitely about George, that George had found and Matty had thought that night in early December had been the worst night of his life, but then they’d cuddled and George had told him that everything was fine, and they watched some sappy shit they could find on one of the movie channels on TV. And that had become a thing, and Matty had assumed that they’d become something of a thing: a  _ slow _ moving gradual, Matty and George kind of thing, but a  _ thing _ nonetheless, but then they’d gone to Ross’ New Year’s Party even though Matty had much rather wanted to stay at home with George and get pissed and watch shitty TV, and then, well, Saffy had happened.

Fucking Saffy, honestly, Matty still couldn’t figure out what the fuck Saffy was short for because you don’t just name your child Saffy, do you?

George had thought everything was fine and that Matty would come around the following day, even as Matty stayed in bed until four and only got up to go to the bathroom; George had made him dinner and even put it on a tray for him to have in bed, and had made quite the display of lingering around in Matty’s room as he ate, even though Matty had made quite the display of telling George to fuck off.

It was only at the third day that Matty had spent in bed that George began to realise that something was seriously wrong, and did what you did when something went wrong, which was call Ross, and Matty had made a point of telling Ross to fuck off as well, and quite the point of not speaking to anybody for a week after that, because there was no fucking way he was admitting that he’d actually thought there’d been fucking something between them, because of course George was straight, and he was just being nice, and maybe Matty should have used more cohesive language, or just created a banner that read ‘I’m Matty and I’m pansexual and I have such a crush on George Daniel’ and just hung it on the wall that faced you as you first walked into the house - maybe that would have gotten his point across.

After Matty had refused to acknowledge George’s existence for a week, George moved out, and in hindsight, Matty could understand why he’d done so, but in the moment, Matty had cried for about two days straight, because he’d absolutely fucked everything up, and Adam had come and sat with him and watched shitty TV to make him feel better but it absolutely wasn’t the same, and he’d drafted at least seven hundred messages to send to George, but he’d never quite gotten brave enough to actually send any of them, and slowly, that just became that, and January became February and Matty groaned at the post on George’s instagram on Valentine's day, because he’d spent it with Saffy, because George had moved in with fucking Saffy, who Matty really didn’t even know that much, and apparently they were in love and all that bullshit, because back in February was when Matty actually used to listen to the life updates Adam gave him on the phone.

But February became March, and Matty had gone to see his mum for Mother’s Day, and they’d had a nice family thing with his little brother, who he didn’t see as much as he should, and everything had felt normal again: being around people,  _ family _ , because looking back, George had always felt like family, and maybe Matty should have moved back in with his mum - maybe he was in that kind of state, but he certainly wasn’t in the kind of state to admit it. Especially when his little brother, Louis, looked at him with such admiration, even though he would never admit it, the guy looked up to him. And Matty hated being any kind of role model, because he was the worst when it came to responsibility, and that was why he’d needed to live with someone - someone like George who knew how to cook, and reminded him to get dressed, and snapped him out of the odd kind of breakdowns he had where he’d sit in one spot for hours on end, but Matty had gone back home and tried to get on with his life.

And it became April, and it rained too much, and Matty had finally managed to tell Adam that he was kind of lonely, although Adam was already well aware of that, because Matty only left the house to go to the Tesco down the road anymore, so there was not that much left to the imagination. Adam had told him to get a dog, and Matty had listened, because the idea seemed to please Ross, and Ross usually knew what he was doing, and Adam had rolled his eyes when Matty invited him over to meet the new puppy, because apparently he held certain prejudices against dogs named after poets, but surely he’d been expecting something along those lines.

Allen Ginsberg, which was what Matty had named the dog, was the first positive addition to Matty’s life in months, which Ross and Adam had looked very pleased about, and in all honesty, Matty wouldn’t be that surprised to find that the two of them met up every Wednesday afternoon for coffee to discuss Matty and how he was doing. However, by April, Matty had stopped caring and resorted instead to being the best parent to Allen he could be, and sitting around trying to possibly do something productive with his life, because as things were going, he really needed to get something written or he’d have to go out and get some kind of proper job, at fucking Tesco or something, which was not something he found himself at all inclined towards.

Ross had sent Matty a text that afternoon - another invitation to go out that evening for a meal and drinks or something - the kind of thing that functioning adults did, and Matty would argue that he was a perfect fan of food and alcohol and conversations with Adam and Ross, and maybe even put up with their girlfriends, who Matty didn’t really know very well, but had been assured were nice people, but there was just the fucking matter of George, because George was invited, because Adam and Ross were still friends with George, who Matty hadn’t acknowledged the existence of in months, and Matty was still pretty sure that George was still dating Saffy, but in all honesty he wasn’t that inclined to find out.

Matty leaned back in his desk chair and let his gaze address the way the clouds parted in the skies: a hope of sunshine for the afternoon shining down towards him, and if Matty cared to believe in that kind of bullshit, he’d say this was some sort of sign for better times, but he was largely convinced that it absolutely wasn’t.

After a few moments had passed, he gave in and texted Ross back with an apologetic no, before saying what the hell, and following it up with the vegan excuse, because what did he really have to lose at this point.

Ross, however, was perhaps more in the know that Matty had accounted for, however, in hindsight, Matty had never been that discreet at all, and texted Matty back with a simple:  _ ‘George isn’t coming.’ _

Matty groaned aloud: placing his phone down on his desk and burying his head in his hands, because this meant that Ross had known that Matty had been lying to him, and well, maybe he hadn’t ever been that good at lying at all, but still, he felt like a fucking idiot, and it was that combined with  _ George _ , because at every mention of his name, it was New Year’s again and everything tasted like too much vodka and his head was spinning, and it was over four months later and Matty still didn’t know who the fuck Saffy was.

Ross texted again six minutes later; Matty hadn’t even realised six minutes had passed with his head thrown into his hands as he attempted to make sense of the mess of thoughts strewn across his mind, because he’d gathered by now that the absolute last thing he needed to do was think about George.

Matty glanced down at the message displayed on his phone screen:  _ ‘Neither is Saffy. And I need to talk to you in person.’ _

Matty let out a groan, because he really wasn’t feeling up for it, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t showered since last Thursday, but it was getting to the point where he wouldn’t be surprised if Ross came to his house and pulled him outside regardless of whether he wanted to go or not.

Matty responded with a simple, mildly irritated:  _ ‘You could just facetime me. That’s practically the same.’ _

_ ‘Matty you can’t spend your entire life alone in your bedroom.’ _ Ross’ reply came almost instantly, however, in response, Matty let out a sigh, and got up from his desk: noticing how it had stopped raining completely now, and even the clouds were beginning to flee the skies.

He shook his head and glanced down at his phone once more, before muttering a half dejected, “watch me,” aloud, leaving Ross on seen, like the excellent friend he was, and stumbling into his living room to find Allen asleep on the sofa.

Matty spent the rest of evening eating tasteless leftover pasta that he’d made a few nights ago and watching the kind of shit they put on TV at eight pm on a Thursday with Allen on his lap. Honestly, he was perfectly fine and he had absolutely no idea what Ross could possibly be talking about.

-

He could think when it was dark: light was a distraction, everything was a distraction, and nothing ever stood still - not ever for a moment. And as the observer, the world bid him no favours, for there was nothing that lay still, that lay dormant, peaceful enough for him to contemplate or really appreciate before it was pulled from beneath him and he was thrown into the unknown.

Matty perhaps wondered if he had too many thoughts, and spent too much time upon things: fixating on every detail, and letting his mind obsess over the slightest aspects of something as a whole. But there was no stopping this - it was simple, this was how it went, and this was how Matty functioned, or didn’t, but made quite the escapade out of convincing himself and everyone else (but mostly Ross) that he was, at two in the morning, with half cold coffee sat next to him on his desk, and his room purely dark besides the starlight streaming in from the windows, and the faint glow of his phone screen at the other side of his desk. He fell back against his chair, listening to the gentle hum throughout the house: machine sounds, living sounds, night sounds.

He was up too late.

George had been perhaps the only person who could get him to go to bed, not even to bed with George, but just to his own bed, just to sleep, just to be calm, just to shut up the thoughts in his head.

Matty stopped himself, because he didn’t want to think about him, but he didn’t want to think about himself either, because the longer he fixated upon himself, the more sure he became that something was seriously wrong with him, and those were the kinds of hoops that he really didn’t want to be jumping through at two in the morning on a Thursday- a  _ Friday.  _ It was a Friday now. Although Matty didn’t really consider it to be the next day once he’d fallen asleep and woken up in the daylight, but sometimes that just didn’t happen, and Thursdays still became Fridays regardless.

He leaned forward: resting his face in one hand, and with the other pressing down upon a key on his typewriter.

‘ _ X’ _

He played the clicking sound it made back through his head a good ten times before leaning forward again and pressing the key once more.

_ ‘XX’ _

He found that there was something enthralling in the way a typewriter sounded a worked, and how it had the capacity to make the words you were writing  _ real. _ Real and material - printed upon paper, which was worlds away from a Word document on his laptop screen, and he’d never been one for handwriting stuff - too messy. Matty couldn’t read his own handwriting,  _ George _ couldn’t read his handwriting, so Matty had resorted to writing shopping lists on his typewriter and sticking them to the fridge with those alphabetic magnets that Adam had bought them once, which were only ever to write out vulgar phrases that always failed to make any kind of sense. Matty didn’t have to do that anymore - the shopping lists or the fridge magnet obscenities. Sometimes when Adam came around he spelled out some shit like ‘hann woz here’ on the fridge, but that was generally it.

_ ‘XXX’ _

He pressed the key a third time before leaning back in his chair. “Fuck.” He muttered aloud; he shouldn’t be thinking this much, especially not about George, because he’d been doing fine, and then Ross had to go and mention him, and Matty just couldn’t stop thinking once he’d started, and-

Matty moved his typewriter down to the next line. He took a moment to remind himself just what he was doing up at two that morning, and that was writing, but here he sat: head in one hand, doing anything but writing.

Writing was supposed to be easy, therapeutic, fun: a simple cleansing process of the thoughts clogging his mind onto the page, but writing was anything but easy, as he found that he could never write about anything besides what was directly occupying his thoughts at that very moment, and that very morning, the thing occupying his thoughts was George.

And perhaps just  _ letting _ himself think about George, letting himself think back to December, letting himself drown in it all was just what he needed: closure and all of that. Perhaps he’d let Ross read this one: a great display of acceptance and moving on - a great display of his perfectly sound mental state, but of course, one kind of wishful conviction.

Matty hadn’t set foot in George’s bedroom since December 31st, and he found such a realisation only just dawning upon him, because it had been New Year’s Eve, and he’d been the first to wake, and he’d made George coffee and brought it to him, and sat with him as he began to wake up, and tried to make sense of the nonsense he spewed when he wasn’t quite yet conscious, because that was such a Matty thing to do.

And George had fallen back to sleep as Matty lay there thinking: drifting between speech and thought in a messy kind of pattern that only George was accustomed to, and Matty had contemplated waking him up, but there was peace in his form, and the way he’d lain there, and the way the world had looked like it was closing in on them, but Matty hadn’t cared, and the way everything had looked so bright that morning to be ruined so soon.

He cursed aloud and began to type: well prepared to hate himself in the morning, because these were the kind of thoughts that were never good and always had to spiral out of control, but there was no better alternative, and Matty promised himself that with something down on paper he’d finally go to sleep.

As Matty finally lay in his bed: mind refreshingly empty, and world perfectly dark, he let his vision fade and his body still, leaving a whole world of things he hated to explore at his desk, for the what he’d come out with in the end was rather short, yet the meaning it held was far stronger than anything else:

_ ‘ _ _ i like it when you sleep, for there are cracks in my ceiling that i know like the back of my heart - and to learn of your body in half of that manner was something desired from the start’ _

Matty lay half asleep wondering if he’d have to start thinking about George to ever get out of this mess, because he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready for that yet. He needed time; he needed the world to slow, and for everything to stay the same, just for a while, just for him to take it in, to count the colours, and memorise every word.

-

The world did not work like that.

Matty had been right in suspecting that Ross would resort to more extreme measures to get him to be somewhat sociable and act ‘like a normal human being’, and found himself rather cruelly awaken to the sound of Ross Macdonald yelling at him in his bedroom at ten that morning,

“Come on, Matty, it’s ten am.” Ross rolled his eyes, before walking across to the desk, and sitting down in the chair: turning himself to face Matty, yet to notice the curly haired man’s latest piece of work placed on the desk just behind him.

“Mm- what the fuck are you doing in my house?” Matty groaned, rolling over in bed to face Ross, and meeting his eyes with the most regret ever conveyed in a glare. “It’s fucking ten am, that’s early, I only had eight hours sleep, I could go for another eight right here.”

“You’re not, though.” Ross offered him a smile, which was quite the contrast to the stern, almost dictative manner with which he had spoke.

“Why not?” Matty buried his face back into his pillow and continued to regret his entire existence on a very large scale.

“You’re going out to lunch with us. George isn’t going to be there-” Matty groaned instantly at the mention of his name. “ _ Sorry _ ,” Ross let out a sigh, and couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “he who must not be named-”

“He’s not Voldemort.” Matty lay still in bed now: eyes fixated up at the ceiling.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, can I refer to him by his name, like normal people do?” Ross continued, eyeing Matty with concern, but found himself unable to quite decipher whether he was in a state today or it was just something to do with the fact that Ross had come in and woken him up personally.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t refer to him at all.” Matty let out a sigh.

“Matty, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to.” Ross folded his arms: leaning back in the chair, and coming to imagine just what could become of the rest of the day. “We have to talk about him.”

“Oh fuck off.” Matty shook his head in disbelief. “What is there to talk about? Go talk to Hann about him.”

“I have.” Ross told him very matter of factly. “I need to talk to  _ you _ , though. It’s important, Matty, and it’s not the kind of conversation we can have with you still in bed.”

“You could try, I mean, anything’s possible, and you never know ‘til you try-”

“If anything’s possible, then you should try getting out of bed and getting dressed, and going with me to meet Adam for lunch.” Ross couldn’t deny the certain tone of snide to his voice, although very half hearted, as he got to his feet, and took a glance around Matty’s bedroom. “Just me and Adam. No one else. This is kind of an important thing, Matty.”

“You think everything’s important.” Matty shrugged it off and pulled the covers over his head.

“You’ll only let me have in depth discussions with you about things when they  _ are _ important.” Ross protested, his eyes widening as they fixated upon the poem Matty had worked on last night laying on his desk. He knew that perhaps it wasn’t very polite of him to read it over without Matty’s permission, but it wasn’t very long, and he couldn’t help himself as his gaze fell over it. “This is good, you know?” He said after a moment: chancing it. “This poem,” he turned back to Matty, who had suddenly turned as white as a sheet. “ _ Really _ good.” Ross emphasised, watching as Matty stumbled out of bed and made his way over to the desk.

“It’s not-” He cursed under his breath as he came to a halt, “it’s not  _ for _ you.”

Ross paused for a moment: unsure of quite what to say. “Who is it for then?”

Matty realised that he hadn’t quite thought that far, but yet he felt inside that it was definitely  _ for _ someone. “I don’t know.”

Ross looked at him as if he was lying, and this time, he genuinely wasn’t. “Is it about anyone?” He continued to ask, and this was the question that left Matty cursing everything that had ever existed.

“I don’t know.” Matty let out a sigh, trying to thinking about fucking  _ anything _ else.

Ross looked at him as if he was lying, and this time, he was right.

-

Admittedly, once he got there, it wasn’t that bad.

It was just lunch, just with Adam and Ross, who were pretty much his only two friends, which was really quite sad when Matty thought about it, because before he really had had friends and at least a great detail of acquaintances: the kind of people you went to parties with and maybe knew through a mutual friend, but that was all when he’d been friends with George.

And it wasn’t because they’d been  _ George’s _ friends, because they’d been both of their friends, because it always kind of been  _ Matty And George _ \- as a  _ thing _ , as a collective, but then Matty hadn’t spoken to anyone besides Adam and Ross, who had proved that they both had unbelievable amounts of patience, for the past few months, so really, Matty could understand why they’d want to spend time with George over him.

Matty was kind of having a good time: just eating and chatting with his friends, and getting out, and maybe Ross had actually had somewhat of a point when it came to going outside; Ross did tend to be right, but still, Matty never tended to listen to him, mainly because Matty was just a piece of shit like that, but then, of course, it all went downhill as the conversation turned to George.

“Have you spoken to him at all since…?” Adam’s question was outwardly vague: giving Matty the opportunity to play it off as if he hadn’t the slightest clue as to what he could  _ possibly _ be referring to.

“Who?” Matty asked: gaining a disbelieving look from Ross, who pretty much knew Matty in and out by now.

“George.” Ross finished for Adam: leaning back in his chair and sharing an indecipherable look with Adam. “You can’t just avoid it forever, you know? You really can’t. We have to talk about this. We should talk about it now.”

“Ross, do you really think-” Adam began, but Matty cut him off, not really wanting to hear the end of his sentence.

“No- well,  _ yes _ , actually.” Matty let out a sigh. “I liked a photo he posted on instagram once though, the one fucking photo that wasn’t related to fucking Saffy, I mean, seriously, who the  _ absolute fuck _ is Saffy?”

“You liked a photo on instagram.” Adam shook his head in disbelief, “I’ve liked Kylie Jenner’s photos on instagram - doesn’t mean we’re on friendly terms.” 

Matty simply shrugged in response, before continuing to ask about Saffy, because he did find himself wanting to know now. “Who is she, honestly, like other than George’s girlfriend, because-”

Ross let out a sigh, interrupting Matty, even though he knew that it likely wasn’t for the best. “She’s not George’s girlfriend.” Matty’s eyes widened at him in disbelief. “Not anymore.”

“ _ What _ ?” Matty didn’t know how to react at all, because part of him was overjoyed, yet he knew that was stupidly bitter and immature, yet part of him was just screaming at him reminding him not to give a fuck.

“They broke up.” Adam concluded: avoiding anyone’s gaze, as if he knew something terrible was about to happen, and just had to look away, which was partly true. “Few days ago. She’s kicked him out.”

“Yeah,” Ross continued, glancing at Adam for any kind of moral support in what he was about to say. “So George needs somewhere to stay, just for a while until he can sort something else out, so we’ve told him he can go back and stay with you for a while.”

“ _ You what- _ ”

“ _ You’ve  _ told him.” Adam made quite the point in clarifying, before turning to a wide eyed, horrified looking Matty. “I’d like to confirm that this was entirely through and through, one hundred percent Ross’ idea.”

“Why the absolute fuck-”

“ _ Matty _ .” Ross raised his voice slightly and shot him a glare. “He needs somewhere to stay, and quite fucking honestly, this is all ridiculous. You two were best friends for over ten years, and what… honestly what did this even happen over? He kissed a girl you don’t like and moved out because you wouldn’t talk to him?” Matty shrugged: not at all inclined to fill in the gaps for Ross. “He’s willing to forgive you, you know? He wants to fix this - be friends again, please don’t fuck this up.”

“Why the fuck does it matter-”

“Matty, come on, look at the state you’ve been in for the past few months-” Adam added, and Matty had to admit that he had a point, but still there was no way in hell that he was going to accept it.

“I’m not fucking letting him do that I-”

“ _ Matty _ , can you please be reasonable about this?” Ross let out a sigh, “you’ve not given us one single reason to explain what actually  _ did _ go on between the two of you, so it has to just be something you’ve blown out of control-”

“What the fuck would you know?” Matty shook his head in disbelief: grabbing his bag and getting up. “What the fuck would you know?” He couldn’t help storming out and making quite the scene before running down the street until he made it towards the local park, and was able to throw himself down onto a bench and try not to cry in public as he lit himself a cigarette.

Matty literally wanted to kill Ross.

What had he ever done to fucking deserve this?

He just couldn’t cope - this wasn’t fukcing going to happen, he was going to lock all of his doors and all of his windows and barricade his fucking house and hide in his bedroom with Allen and refuse to acknowledge George before he ran off again like he had last time, because he wasn’t fucking dealing with this shit.

He’d have to get there before George arrived - whenever that was, because of course it hadn’t been specified-  _ well _ , he’d stormed out before it could be specified, but did they really expected that he was just going to smile and nod and praise Ross on this ‘wonderful idea’ of his.

He was going to dig a moat around his house. Build a fucking electric fence, or something, Matty decided as he got up from the bench, glancing at his phone momentarily -  _ 18 missed calls from Ross, 6 from Adam -  _ and making his way off home ready to turn his house into some kind of highly secured fort until this blew over, or at least, get back the key that he’d given to Ross, because he absolutely did  _ not _ appreciate how he’d just casually strolled in that morning.

-

Matty was turning his key in the lock within twenty minutes: already contemplating pieces of furniture which would best serve the purpose of barricading all the doors and windows with, and found himself settling on the bookcase in his living room, just as he locked the door behind him, and threw his coat and back down, dropping his knees on the table by the door, and kicking off his shoes, before making his way into the living room.

However, as he stood in the doorway, his heart fell out of his chest as he caught sight of a certain someone already stood there. Fuck. 

Matty stood there for a moment: still unnoticed from the angle he was at; he glanced over the bags George had bought, and couldn’t avert his eyes from the way in which he stood, checking his phone awkwardly, as if he didn’t belong here, and this wasn’t a house he’d lived in for years previously.

Matty hated how that  _ hurt _ . Matty hated how that provoked any kind of emotion at all, but what he really couldn’t do was  _ hate _ George, not really, he could try, and he would pretend, but this was the same George. This was  _ his _ George, and he’d missed him, but really he’d missed the way they’d been, and Matty saw little hope for them ever getting back to that now.

He found himself contented with standing therefore, observing, and taking it all in, and cursing Ross because he’d definitely planned this all so Matty couldn’t get out of it, however, the inevitable happened, and George’s eyes eventually fell on his.

“H-hey…” He cleared his throat, stepping forward: his movements shaky, and he was nervous, like Matty was something to be afraid of, like they hadn’t been best friends- and  _ fuck _ , seeing George like that was what finally confirmed to Matty just how much he’d all fucked this up.

And then before he knew what he was doing, he started to cry: stood there in the doorway - halfway into the living room, and right before the guy he’d done everything to avoid for the past four months of his life.

-


	2. Allen Is The Star Of This Fic

At first, George wasn’t entirely sure as to quite what he was supposed to do, because Ross had assured him that this all would be fine, and really this had all been executed by him, as he did all he could to ensure that there were no more awkward outings with only the three of them. Because that was what Adam and Ross wanted - the four of them back together as best friends, because that’s how it had been for years, and George found himself astounded as to just how he’d managed to fuck that all up so easily.

There’d been quite the point made of assuring him that it wasn’t even slightly his fault, and that Matty wasn’t good at dealing with his problems, and that wasn’t on him, but it was, because there had to be a problem there in the first place for Matty to ruin himself over, and of course, George was the one who’d let that problem fall into place.

It had been an odd four months on George’s end too. He wondered what Matty knew of that, what Matty knew of him, what Matty knew of how it had ended - whether Ross and Adam told him, whether he even listened, whether he let them tell him? There were so many questions racing around his mind, but there was only silence: drawn out and prolonged as the second hand on the clock upon their wall ticked away in half time. No, not their wall -  _ Matty’s _ , because this wasn’t really George’s place anymore; he felt like a guest, he felt awkward and out of place, and not just in Matty’s place, but Matty’s life, and he  _ hated _ that.

No. George told himself: changing his mind. Not Matty’s wall,  _ theirs,  _ because despite what Matty thought of it, despite what anyone thought of it, he lived here again too; he had a key, he had a bedroom - this was his house too.

And it was just the fact that he had to question that which really solidified the mess in George’s mind, because it had been… it had been four months. The kind of four months that had his throat going dry, and his heart slowing in his chest, because he didn’t want to  _ think _ , but suddenly obsessive thinking was what he was made for, as his mind fixated in upon January, and the mess, and one hell of starting a new year, and February, and how he’d spent it in denial, and March, and how he’d gotten lonely and a little fucked up, and April, and how he finally accepted that he missed and  _ needed _ his best friend.

But Matty was more than that. In an odd way, more than that, always more than that, but not best best friend, because that was the kind of childish, and maybe they had been acting childish, and maybe George was no older than sixteen inside of his mind, but they were well into their twenties, and if George hadn’t fucked everything up quite so spectacularly then he might have asked Matty to come up with a word for it - a word for them. He would have. He really would have. And they would have smiled and laughed.

But Matty wasn’t smiling or laughing. He was crying, and George was stood there silently like an asshole, and he imagined that it was already what Matty thought of him, and he imagined that in some respects he deserved it, because George had never known what December was, but he’d always known that it sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

And the early hours of New Year’s Day hadn’t been cheating, but it hadn’t been nothing, and they lived it that greyed out awkward sense of something: an unplaceable something, and maybe it would have been okay if Matty had known how to use his words. And that was such an odd thought, because he wrote for a living; he had such a gift with it all - words came naturally, but George knew that words came to Matty when he least needed them: in Sainsbury’s when they were deciding whether to get two packets of cereal or just one, at five in the morning when he hadn’t slept - so many words that he kept himself up for nearly thirty hours, but not, not when he needed to put everything out how it was.

Because it was neither of their faults, for December had been a month of gestures and kind smiles, and how two people slowly just sat closer together without really realising it, and how sleeping on the sofa so they wouldn’t have to go to seperate beds was never mentioned, but they were both so mutually aware of it.

Perhaps it would have been easy, but George reckoned that if it had been easy then it wouldn’t have been  _ real _ , because the Matty with over complicated words and offensive jokes, and even more offensive pick up lines, was the Matty that was put on show and presented to people to win them over - that was the kind of Matty that picked up girls at bars and shagged them maybe twice before blocking their numbers.

And George was so much more than that. For a start, he wasn’t a girl, and they both knew that held a lot of weight: unspoken weight, and as much as it branded George as a hypocrite, he knew that they just weren’t ready to have that conversation yet. Or maybe Matty was - he didn't know, and maybe if they stood like this forever, they never would.

Because there had been something there, and now there was silence, because this was a different Matty, who seemed to have forgotten how to fill awkward silences. This Matty didn’t pick up girls at bars anymore, and as much as George had hated it, he wondered if things would have been better if Matty had gone off and gotten a girlfriend too. But this was the Matty who’d stayed at home for four months, and George both dreaded and longed to see what kind of work he’d produced in that kind of headspace, but he knew that Matty had always been reluctant to show him, and for him to hope that Matty would stop hating him, and stop crying just to reveal what had been going through his mind for the past four months, well, that would make George a whole new kind of idiotic.

He wondered if coming back was idiotic, because he knew that Ross had been lying to him - he knew that Adam had a spare bedroom, and yet, he’d let it all happen, because he’d wanted to come back, and it was more than him missing the magnets on the fridge and the Tesco down the street, and the cracks on his ceiling, and the step three from the top that always creaked horribly.

He wondered if Matty would believe him if he told him so. He wondered if Matty would care. He wondered a hell of a lot in a hell of a short space of time.

And Matty was still crying, and George was looking more and more like an asshole, but in all honesty, he just didn’t know what to do about it; he just didn’t know how to act anymore, because even though it had been confusing before, at least then they’d been something - an odd kind of something, but a something nonetheless, and now they were just nothing. The kind of nothing that ached through your whole body, and made the house feel colder than it had ever been before.

But it was just Matty.  _ Just _ Matty. His Matty. But not his Matty anymore. But  _ Matty _ . Not Matty, but  _ Matty _ . And that made all the difference, because he knew him; he’d known him for years, and four fucking months had no right to define them - no fucking right at all.

It had been… it had been a hell of a four months.

It had been a rash decision: irrational, stupid, but she was pretty, and they’d worked for four months, they’d coped with one another for four months, but Matty was pretty too and they’d coped with each other for years, and fuck, they’d done more than cope, and George knew that he really should make decisions when drunk, with pretty girls at parties, with a desire to prove himself.

Because it had been  _ Matty And George _ \- always. And there’d been this part of him after it had happened that wanted to just be George, but he couldn’t help himself getting lonely, and Saffy And George would never have quite the same ring to it.

And they stood there, not  _ Matty And George _ , fuck, perhaps not even Matty and George, but Matty Healy, and George Daniel. Two separate people, which was what they were, but co-dependency was warm and intoxicating, and neither of them had ever been any good when it came to staying sober.

So George did the first idiotic thing that came to him, as he often did, and rushed forward and finally just pulled Matty into his arms: a hug, nothing more, but skin against skin, and Matty was so cold, and shaking slightly, but so immobile: freezing up from the inside, and it made George sick, because he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against the top of Matty’s head, because he was so much taller than him, and he could remember when they were kids and Matty had been taller, and that didn’t even feel real anymore, much as he imagined, or at least hoped, that those four months wouldn’t in the future. “I’m sorry.” This time it came with more passion, more  _ meaning _ , and his voice began to break slightly, but still Matty was motionless and unresponsive: shivering into his arms, and it scared him - this all scared him so much, because this was a Matty that he didn’t really know anymore, and that was just their  _ thing _ \- that they knew each other more than they knew anything else.

And it was in that moment that George wondered if he was only perhaps really beginning to understand the meaning of the word ‘regret’. He hated how it took things like these to come to such conclusions, because we lived through life not really understanding, not really taking things in until they came like a punch to the face. And in that moment, he swore to change that, for hope of dreary April, but a better May.

Matty would have thought, would have expected that it wouldn’t come to this -  _ them _ , them again, hugging, like nothing was different, because fucking everything was different, and he didn’t want to be bitter but he didn’t want George to brush it away and they continued on like normal, because he didn’t want that, because as much as he had like December, with every December they had there would always be a January to follow, and he wanted a new start - a change, something that meant something, a heartfelt apology and explanation, and not just some fucking hug in his living room as he cried into George’s chest like that was something they  _ did _ . Because they didn’t - not anymore.

Matty also wished he could deny the way that cut into him, because in all honesty, he wanted to let this fly behind him, to let December roll over even in spring, and to live through those few weeks of peacefulness until the eventuality came down upon them, and as they reached no conclusion with what had happened between them, she’d come back into the picture, and suddenly Ross telling him that George staying at his place again was likely temporary made Matty sick to his stomach, because more than anything, he wanted him to stay, because he was  _ his _ George, and more than anything, he wanted him.

He came to hate himself, and the way his mind worked, and how quick he was pleading to forgive, because there was a simple and easy way to do things, and Matty knew that way wouldn’t get them anywhere, but of course, there was still that part of him that was deathly scared to go anywhere in the first place. This was the part of him that left Ross and Adam in the dark for the past few months because he just couldn’t bring himself to explain the truth, because Matty was scared, and he wanted things to go back to normal, but good normal, new normal, and he just wanted this horrible sinking feeling in his stomach to go away.

He should have pulled away from George by now; he shouldn’t have let him do this in the first place. He should have showed some kind of  _ something _ , said something by now, but he was scared, and he hated letting other people know that, and he hated crying in front of people, especially George.

“I’m…” Matty managed one word before regretting it, as he felt George pull away and allow him to speak, because that wasn’t what he wanted - he needed everything to fade away, and he needed him not to be here, but he couldn’t let him leave, he really needed him to have never arrived, because avoiding things entirely was so much easier than letting them go.

George met his gaze with a questioning yet concerned look, and through this all, he wasn’t even slightly angry, despite the fact that Matty was clear upon the fact that it was him who’d managed to fuck this all up, and he’d done nothing but apologise, and it wasn’t fucking fair - Matty wasn’t being fucking fair, on George or himself, he didn’t even know at this point; he just wasn’t in the state to speak but the only alternative he had was to cry, and he couldn’t face that again.

“Why are you here?” He finally choked out: looking up at George, and knowing from Ross exactly what had brought him here, but that wasn’t the exact answer he wanted; he didn’t want the  _ what _ , he wanted the  _ why,  _ and most of all, he wanted it from George himself, because he had this awful habit of being accidentally rather blunt about things whereas Ross tended to go overboard on the sugarcoating and looking after people’s feelings, and mothering Matty to the extent that was getting borderline unnerving.

From the look upon his face, it seemed as if George hadn’t been exactly expecting that, or at least such a direct form of questioning. Matty could only wonder just what he had been expecting: some form of apology, or some form of argument, perhaps. Maybe he should have just yelled at him, and in hindsight that did seem easier - highly counterproductive, and messy, and likely to have him crying again, and George leaving within a few days, but  _ easier _ , unlike holding that distant, uncertain look in George’s eyes as he struggled to form an explanation.

“I…” George leaned back against the wall momentarily and ran a hand back through his hair: fixating his gaze upon the house, and how it was  _ their _ house, but not  _ theirs _ anymore, and how that hurt more than he ever could have accounted for. “Me and…” his voice grew quiet, drifting off into something like a mumble, “Saffy… we… well, broke up… I guess.” He glanced up at Matty: hopeful that somehow, despite all he knew, what he’d provided would act as a suitable explanation.

“You guess?” Matty raised his eyebrows, rubbing his eyes in order to remove any evidence that might lead back to the fact that he’d been crying just a few minutes ago; he didn’t exactly know why he’d bothered, with George having witnessed it all, but somehow it mattered, and somehow this made a difference, and he didn’t feel like he was in much of a position to question that.

“I guess?” George repeated, changing his tone to meet Matty’s - louder, clear, and picking up as time went on.

“You either did or you didn’t.” Matty raised his voice again, and came to regret it: watching as George grimaced, and came to wonder if maybe this was sensitive for him, maybe he didn’t want to talk about it, and if he was succeeding again in being the world’s biggest fucking asshole by insisting that he addressed it.

“Uhh…” George pulled his gaze away, and scratched his neck absentmindedly. “I guess… we did?” He let out a sigh: fixating upon the coffee table and the stack of magazines and random papers gathered there, and how the house was generally messier all around, and how this was in his absence, because despite what Matty always insisted, he really couldn’t look after himself on his own. It wasn’t that there was anything directly  _ wrong _ with him, it was just who he was; he needed people - people like George, as George found himself hoping to think. 

Living with Saffy had been different; she didn’t leave junk on coffee tables for him to clean, and as mundane as it sounded, he missed it, because it was always the little things, like how Matty was always awake in the early hours of the morning and he left little reminders of that for George to find come nine or ten. They were the most silly things to miss, and George was just wondering if he had somewhat of a penchant for those kind of silly things. Matty being the silliest thing of all. But that was  _ Matty _ .  _ His _ Matty. Sort of. He wasn’t really so sure anymore.

“We-” George found Matty cutting him off, which, considering the fact that he’d asked the question, was not something he’d been expecting, considering it was Matty who’d seemed so determined in asking him so in the first place. 

“You don’t have to talk about it…” Matty trailed off: biting his lip. “I mean… it’s… a break up, they’re hard, aren’t they? I shouldn’t be… I mean, you should’ve been crying.” He attempted to laugh it off, like it was nothing, like this was just a joke, but no kind of joke lasted four months and left him feeling like this.

“Shouldn’t I?” George paused for a moment: taking in Matty’s appearance, taking in the whole house, like he was scared that Matty might just kick him out at any moment, because all in all, he certainly didn’t doubt his ability to do so. “I mean… that’s what mates do, isn’t it?”

And Matty gave him a look as if to say ‘we’re not exactly mates anymore’, unable to stop himself as the tone upon George’s face immediately shifted, because by now, he was, of course, an expert in reading Matty by facial expressions alone, and he shouldn’t have forgotten that, but he  _ had _ , and he’d let himself, because maybe he’d needed to forget and just stop thinking about George entirely, but suddenly that really just wasn’t an option anymore.

“About…” George began, stopping himself momentarily: unsure if he really wanted to go there, because there was a very strong part of him that couldn’t face this all falling apart, but in all honestly, what were they now if not already in pieces? And he asked himself one of those stupid questions, like what did he really have left to lose? Perhaps that was just asking for it, but the look in Matty’s eyes made him hopeful for a different story entirely. “About… about… New Year…” He watched as Matty grimaced slightly, and felt himself freezing up: unsure, unable to continue, because beyond everything else, he was  _ scared _ .

“What about New Year?” Matty finally managed to ask: his voice cracking as he spoke, leaving him to blush slightly, because now that they’d started talking, it was beyond awkward and painful, and Matty even began to see the positives in just going back to crying. 

“You know.” George told him with a sigh. “I… you should have talked to me- fuck, why did you talk to me? That was why I left, you know? I thought you hated me, and maybe you do, I don’t know, but surely if you didn’t you would have thrown me out the minute you saw me, wouldn’t you?” And suddenly he was halfway to yelling before he was even fully aware of it, and Matty felt so very small and so very close to crying, which suddenly didn’t seem like quite the shining example of a perfect alternative anymore.

“I don’t know.” Matty choked out, looking at George and then looking away again as his chest began to ache, because he needed this to end; he needed this conversation to just go away, but  _ how _ ? Where could it go away to when George was here with his stuff because he was staying here for a while at least. “I… just… I…” He shook his head.

“It’s okay.” George fell into a sigh, “maybe we should leave this until later, you know? I mean… I mean… it’s just  _ us _ . You don’t  _ hate _ me, right?”

Matty looked up at him and found a sense of familiarity in his tone: the sense of home that he’d lost inside this house, because home was so much less the actual four walls you stood within, but the people within it. “We need to talk about this, though, I’m not-” He stumbled over his words in a desperate attempt not to fucking cry again, because once was enough and twice was just fucking pathetic. “I’m not fucking letting you just fucking leave again, and I’m just-... we need to talk… we need to fucking sort this out… I don’t know how, though.” He sighed, before playing it off with a laugh, “I guess there is a limit to the amount of things I can get Ross to do for me.” 

“You should have talked to them, you know? Like properly.” George’s tone suddenly grew quieter, “about what happened, about… it… mattered, didn’t it?”

“What?” Matty asked, feeling suddenly under pressure with George’s gaze. “What mattered?”

“New Year's.” George muttered, suddenly pulling his eyes away, because this was leading dangerously into a conversation he was sure that neither of them were quite ready for, but in turning away, he missed the slight, but present, nod that followed in response.

“I don’t hate you.” Matty eventually found the words to fill the silence. “By the way.”

George chanced a smile, far happier to hear Matty say those words than he perhaps should have been. “Well, I guess you’ll be glad to know that I don’t hate you either.”

“I guess.” Matty gave a gentle nod.

“You guess?” George raised his eyebrows, “you either do or you don’t.”

Momentarily, Matty’s eyes grew wide and George’s heart began to drop in his chest, but with time, Matty’s face gave way to the slightest smile, and the room was filled with the slightest hope that there might be some hope for them in all of this mess, because there had to be, didn’t there?

They were  _ Matty And George _ , after all. And that  _ had _ to count for something, even in all of this mess.

-

His room looked empty. But then again, it wasn’t really  _ his _ room anymore. There was a lack of permanence to this all, and it was the kind of lack the dug deep into you and had you sick with two eyes staring off onto the white plaster of the wall opposite.

They hadn’t spoken since their first conversation, and indeed, only perhaps an hour or two at most had passed, but as George had spent it, at first slowly unpacking his stuff: places shirts back into their places in the wardrobe, because they  _ did _ have places, but it was the just the matter of wondering how long they were going to stay there again - how long this would last, this evidently temporary kind of arrangement.

George hated that, because he just couldn’t wholeheartedly see this working again, and more than anything he wanted that - things to go back to normal, things to go back to  _ them _ , but this had been largely down to him.

He’d spent too long laid back on his bed: mind elsewhere, wondering just what part of him had let Ross do this, knowing full well that it would upset Matty, and there had been the proof of that in the very moment that he’d walked in; George hated seeing Matty cry, and even more than that, he found that he hated knowing that it was his fault.

He considered calling Ross, just asking him for help, for what the fuck to do, and for him to undo this all, but there was no act of undoing this all, sure, he could get up and leave but George knew very well that it was the worst thing he could do in that situation, yet he packed and unpacked all his stuff three times before giving up and falling back onto the bed: reaching for his cellphone on the bedside table out of habit, but finding that it was still inside his bag instead.

He wondered if maybe he should at least text Ross, just to let him know that Matty hadn’t killed him or something, or that Matty was alright, and everything was generally sort of fine, but of course, George found that with Matty somewhere out of sight and having been so for nearly two hours now, George had no idea whether he was alright or not.

The idea to check crossed his mind, but he found himself uncomfortable at the thought of it, because suddenly the last thing he wanted was any kind of confrontation with Matty, because finding him and checking was such a  _ them _ thing, and they weren’t really them anymore. George hated this kind of loneliness, not just with Matty, but with Saffy gone too.

It had been a mess of a four months, and there was no way around that. George had at least consolidated the fact, with his own personal experience, that relationships formed on drunk decisions at one am on New Year's Day, and the desire to prove one hell of a stupidly spiteful point to his best friend… now sort of ex best friend… didn’t work out well at all.

He’d wanted Matty to him again - that was the thing. And he’d been angry, and a bit drunk, and refusing to listen to Ross since he’d deemed that Ross was on Matty’s side, you know, back when George had insisted that there were sides in all of this, and that this was an argument and not just the most unfortunate event in his life. 

He’d moved in with Saffy to get a reaction out of Matty - so he’d admit that he couldn’t ignore him and that they needed each other so George could move back in. But Matty had been all new kinds of stubborn, or just all new kinds of fucked up, and it was all new kinds of  _ George’s fault _ . And it was just that come February, it was sort of awkward to call it off and run back to Matty again.

Just sort of awkward.

He sounded like a dickhead. He  _ was _ a dickhead. He just hadn’t meant to be, yet suddenly intentions held very little weight at all.

It wasn’t that he never had feelings for her, because he had. He just found, that in hindsight, they perhaps weren’t the right kind of feelings. George just wasn’t very good with feelings overall: whatever kind of fucked up state he and Matty’s ‘relationship’ lay in was sufficient proof of that.

It had been a relationship, and they’d definitely liked each other. They’d fucked often enough, and they hadn’t really gotten into arguments, well, until they  _ did.  _ It had been one hell of an argument and it came with very little warning, only a few days prior; she’d just looked at him during dinner, downed an entire glass of wine, met him in the eyes and just said Matty’s name.

She’d figured it out somehow. All of it, how it had been from the start, always about Matty more than anything - George was unsure how, and maybe if he’d told her that things weren’t the same anymore and that he did care about her then maybe they’d have had a chance at fixing things, but he didn’t. He just let it all happen over a few days, because there was this part of him that wanted it all to fall apart, and perhaps that part of him was wrong, but he figured that it was likely too late for that now.

He still wanted to be friends with her though - she was a nice girl, she’d always been a nice girl, and it was just that George was never any good at making decisions with alcohol involved, and it had been far too many occasions now without Matty there on the spot to stop him. In that kind of way, he needed Matty, but they were just at a point where that didn’t seem like an option anymore.

George jumped a little when the door opened slightly and little ball of brown fur made its way into the room: although at first a little confused, George figured that this had to be the dog Matty had gotten - the one of Ross’ suggestions that Matty had actually listened to, as Adam had described it to him as.

George found himself putting all other thoughts and regard for the rather fragile nature of his relationship with Matty aside in favour of the fact that an actual sunshine ray in the form of a puppy had walked into the room. Without even thinking, he got up from the bed, and sat down beside the puppy on the floor, finding that he soon made his way into George’s lap. George didn’t want to be a prat about this, but there was definitely a strong feeling that this encounter with Matty’s new puppy was certainly the best part of this year so far.

Because hey, even if Matty didn’t really want him around, at least Matty’s dog did, and George figured that had to count for something at least. 

Of course, however, it was only a matter of time until the doorway parted further, and tentatively, just behind the door, stood none other than Matty himself. George found his gaze trailing upwards to find Matty’s eyes, and the puppy squirming in his lap to run back to Matty, which George couldn’t help but let out a smile at, because they should have gotten a dog sooner.  _ They _ . George bit his lip, looking away.

“His name’s Allen.” Matty finally broke the silence, and George turned back to the doorway to see Matty stepping forward and sitting down a metre or so away from George: Allen now in his lap, and George couldn’t help be a bit jealous - of both Matty and Allen. “Allen Ginsberg.” George couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at that. “Shut up.” Matty noticed George’s expression, and seemed to say out of instinct than anything else.

“I didn’t say anything.” George told him with a sigh: a smile, however, falling back over his lips. “It’s a nice name. Very you. I mean who else is going to name a dog after Allen Ginsberg?”

“Exactly.” Matty’s hands ran slowly across Allen’s fur as he spoke, and George couldn’t help but to fixate upon it slightly. “What would you have called him then?”

“George Junior.” He spoke without really thinking, and finding the meaning of life itself in the way Matty snorted before falling into a full blown laugh.

“What are your kids gonna be called, fucking George Two, George Three, and George Four?” Matty found himself still laughing, and having forgotten that they weren’t quite supposed to like each other anymore.

“Could call one Bedford.” George suggested, leaning back against the bed.

“Yeah, because that’s  _ such _ a great name, isn’t it?” Matty sighed as he glanced up at him: his tone somewhat reminiscent of how it had been before, and his sigh serving as evidence that he’d come to realise as such.

“Alright,  _ Timothy _ .”

“Fuck off.” Matty looked to the floor, letting a few moments pass before he met George’s eyes again. “This was Ross, wasn’t it? Told you to get here before I came back and all that. Thinks he can fix things just like that.”

“You shouldn’t hate him for trying to help you.” George muttered, hating how quickly everything seemed to have fallen apart again; there was no permanence to this now, and very little hope for it - he  _ hated _ that.

“Help me?” Matty looked up at him: all wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “What is that what you think? That I need fucking  _ help _ . Is that why you’re back here, is that why you’re being nice, because there had to be a  _ reason _ , didn’t there, I mean-”

_ “Matty.” _ George met him with a stern look behind his eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything  _ wrong _ with you. I just… you push people away, and you  _ do _ need them. You need Ross, you need Adam, you need…”  _ Me _ .

“How the fuck would you know? It’s not like you’ve been here at all, is it?” The loud tone to Matty’s voice had Allen moving away from him and out of the room. He looked after him with a silent look of apology, and lowered his voice. “You just fucking left, you know?”

“I regret that.” George sighed, chancing a look across at Matty. “We need to talk about things. You need to open up - you can’t just push people away, it’s not  _ good _ for you.”

“I didn’t  _ push _ you away, though, did I? You just left of your own accord. If anything, you pushed me away.” And of course, Matty had to have a point, and George hated how he was right.

“I’m sorry.” George looked him in the eyes. “I mean that. I want to fix this. I want this to go back to how it was before.”

Matty shook his head, pausing for a moment, “I don’t know if I want that. I don’t know if I want that at all.” He got to his feet, “I don’t know why… I just, I don’t know. I don’t know.” And with that, he stepped outside and closed George’s bedroom door behind him.

The silence that followed was the worst, and George spent it sat on the floor with his back against the bed, trying not to cry, because that was just the last thing he needed to do in all of this, but perhaps the only thing he could, and even if that counted for something, George just wasn’t sure that he cared so much anymore more.

It was always going to end. He’d known that all along, hadn’t he? Just not really believed it.

-

He hated how they’d spent the day awkwardly tiptoeing around one another as they found that suddenly they didn’t know quite what else to do, as before there had been this definition of who they are, and as much as Matty had wanted to start things anew, he found that it was so much harder than he could have bargained for.

Allen seemed to like George, if that counted for something - it didn’t. Matty wondered if Allen even seemed to like George more than him, but there was no point in getting fucked up and petty over who his fucking dog wanted to sit next to. It wasn’t like George was the enemy here, or anything, except, in a weird way, perhaps subconsciously, he kind of was, and Matty just didn’t know what to do about that.

Matty wished he could just fix this all: pull himself together and sort things out, but the truth lay in the fact that he’d lost control of his brain quite a while ago. Things didn’t work like that anymore; things came at four am, and in sleepless nights, and weeks without human content, and showers that spanned on for hours, after weeks had passed without them.

He wasn’t do so well in all honestly, and at least, tonight, he hadn’t  _ forgotten _ to eat, he just purposefully hadn’t done so in order to avoid talking to George again, or maybe perhaps that was worse - Matty didn’t really know.

He’d spent the past few hours locked in his room: sat at his bed, sat at his desk, then sat beside the window - sat to watch the rain, and sat to curse the skies opening up to give him something to lose himself in. But he cared little for the hours it’d waste away, and just needed the opportunity to lose himself in any form of thought that didn’t directly relate to the George situation.

The George Situation. Because it was a  _ situation _ now - a problem, something to be solved, something out of turn, and something unearthly. And it was Matty himself who had unintentionally penned it as such; he found that he and his subconscious weren’t on the best of terms, and he found that just wasn’t anything he could do about that.

He was in quite the mess, and this really wasn’t helping -  _ The George Situation _ , because that was what it was now. But maybe sitting alone and letting this all kill him from the inside out was hardly the better alternative - perhaps there was no better alternative, perhaps there was no good way out, and perhaps he was just going to have to face that.

Perhaps George would stay and they’d stay in this awkward state with a fading hope of something more, or perhaps George would leave and Matty would go back to himself, but George would go back to her. Matty didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

He glanced to his desk and the paper upon it: displaying the lines he’d written only last night, although now, last night felt like several worlds away. Earlier, he’d sat down to add something, to create anything at all, to gather some sort of justification for the fact that maybe he wasn’t just a complete waste of space, but there was nothing in his head besides worry, and it was that kind of ugly worry that didn’t form intricate sentences and startling questions, but the worry that blotted across your mind like thick, black ink.

Perhaps it was just the subject of his previous work, and how that subject now resided in the room beside his, and how everything had turned itself on its head so quickly, and now that there was absolutely no hope of closure with George staying right beside him.

Or maybe he didn’t  _ need _ closure. Because Matty had never been any good at figuring these kinds of things out. Maybe they did need to see each other all the time - maybe they needed to pull through, maybe they needed the kind of resilience and stubborn qualities that Matty had held in January, but had fizzled out into a wispy kind of nothingness in the course of a few months.

Or perhaps it wasn’t to do with George at all, because it wasn’t like his entire world had to revolve around him, was it? Yet it did, through it all, it did, and that was hurt, and that was hurt to admit - it was left him drifting: awkward, anxious against the cold glass of his bedroom window, hoping to pull himself back to how things had been through the sheer force of his mind. 

But he couldn’t concentrate; he couldn’t focus on anything at all, which wasn’t exactly far from his kind of ordinary, but it was more so than usual - perhaps worryingly so. Except Matty was strongly against getting other people to worry about him, and he was likely going against that with his persistence in ignoring every message from Ross on his phone, but if he really wanted to know what was happening that badly then he could call George.

George who’d likely be out of the kitchen by now, as the sun fell long past the horizon, and George who’d likely be in his room. Because in all admittance, he was hungry, and he couldn’t  _ think _ on an empty stomach, let alone write, let alone focus, let alone make a conscious effort  _ not _ to fuck up his life anymore so than he had already.

With time, he unlocked his bedroom door. At first, he just listened at the door and into the hallway: listening for anything at all, listening for George, but finding nothing but silence, but it was a bitter kind of unpleasant silence, that existed with spite, as if it was forced to, like someone had dragged it along and forced it to remain despite all of its wishes. 

Matty hated how he could understand why the silence might lay with discontent, and in turn, hated how he ceased to do anything about that. He had this awful habit of letting himself waste away and ruining his own life out of stupid things like convenience, and awkward gestures, and irrational thoughts placed erratically in his head.

His footsteps fell with precise and cautious silence: slowly making his way into the kitchen in the intention of quickly grabbing the first thing he laid his eyes upon and heading back to his room. The matter, however, was the fact that as he made it through the kitchen door, the first thing he laid his eyes on was George himself.

The eye contact was instant: George as wide eyed as Matty as he sat at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal - of all things, at eleven in the evening.

“You really don’t have a lot of food in the house.” George told him after a moment; his voice gentle, tentative, and quiet. Matty gave a startled nod before chancing another step into the kitchen. “Do you want me to go down to Tesco tomorrow and get some stuff in?” George continued, looking over Matty, who remained unpleasantly apprehensive as he crossed the kitchen to reach the fridge.

“Y-yeah…” Matty gave a nod: his hand shaking as he pulled it back through his hair, praying to God that George wouldn’t notice - he did. A silence followed.

George watched Matty look through the fridge and eventually pull out the last yoghurt in a packet of four, so naturally it was apricot one, because nobody fucking likes apricot yoghurt, but Matty wasn’t that fussed in that moment.

“Should’ve made proper dinner, you know?” George let out a sigh, “you’ve not got a lot in, though.” He bit his lip - an ‘are you looking after yourself properly?’ right on the tip of his tongue.

“It’s…” Matty trailed off: hovering awkwardly - yoghurt in one hand, spoon in the other. “Okay…”

“You should get to bed.” George told him, finding the only other thing he could think to say. “You look tired.” Matty did, and Matty was.

He gave a shrug, considering taking the seat next to George, but settling with leaning back against the counter as he ate the yoghurt as fast as humanly possible: wishing he just could  _ leave _ , but they had this awful kind of conversation thing going on. “I’ve got to write.” Matty drew out a sigh, and George hit him with a familiar look.

“Your health comes first.  _ Always _ .” George had this kind of thing coming like a reflex. “You don’t  _ have _ to write the works of… I don’t know… a genius, every night, you know that?”

“I can’t. I can’t write  _ anything _ .” Matty shoulders slouched in defeat. “Nothing. It’s just static silence in my head.”

George paused for a moment, before leaning forward with a suggestion. “Would I sound too much like Ross if I told you that you should go outside more?”

“ _ Yes.” _ Matty practically yelled, leaving a smile to ghost momentarily over George’s lips.

“Ross is usually right, though.” George offered him up a smile as he finished his bowl of cereal.

Matty shrugged. “ _ Usually _ .”

George paused for a moment: heart racing slightly. “Come to Tesco with me tomorrow. It’ll get you out, and it’s not much - just down the street, just get a few things.”

“Oh,  _ yeah _ , because the fucking frozen aisle of Tesco is going to be my long lost muse.” Matty rolled his eyes and made quite the scene out of shaking his head. “An Ode To Frozen Veg? Not likely.” George snorted.

“Not what I meant.” He looked up at Matty with wide, optimistic eyes. “Fresh air-”

“Don’t you  _ fresh air _ me, as well-”

“Good for you.” George insisted: getting up and putting his bowl and spoon in the sink, before putting the box of cereal back into the cupboard. “You’ve not done a lot of washing up, either.” He commented as he looked down at the sink.

“Well, you’re very welcome to do it for me.” Matty threw out a sigh and slid his spoon across the countertop and into the sink.

“Come with me tomorrow.” His tone was suddenly rather sincere: the kind of hopeful that Matty had given up on years ago.

Matty shrugged, his eyes fixated upon the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Please.” George insisted, drawing close to spewing some kind of shit about how this was the kind of making an effort that Matty needed to do to fix things, but he knew that it wouldn’t help anybody.

_ “Maybe.”  _ Matty added with a sigh, making his way to the door. “I’ll think about it in the morning.”

George gave him a nod as he followed him out of the room. “Night, Matty.” The words came like instinct as the two stood in the hallway: ready to turn away to their separate rooms.

Matty stood frozen in response for a moment, until the silence was punctured with a sigh, and a, “night, George.”

George was thankful for the darkness to hide the size of his smile until he made it to the safety of his room and a closed door: falling back on his bed with the hope for something to come of tomorrow, in Tesco, of all places.

-


	3. I'm Sorry It Gets Sad But Also Domestic

Overwhelmed is perhaps the only word he could use. The only word he could place, because despite this being his job - words, and the matter of placing them, the matter of turning experiences and thoughts, and marks of a page into something, Matty was always rather lost for words when it mattered the most.

Overwhelmed. He repeated it to himself, his voice floating tentatively around the border between noise and silence, because as much as it was a thought in his head, it was more than that. It was a profound kind of emotion, a whole body kind of feeling; the thing that had him motionless in the sheets as the sun rose up into the sky: horizon streaked with varying tones of golds, oranges, and pinks. There was beauty in the sunrise. There was certainty in it too. The sun would  _ rise _ . Always.

He held onto that as he let his head move deeper back into his pillow. There was a tightness in his chest, like a knot: curling in on itself, and pulling everything a breathless kind of taut. He held his whole body still as he fixated on breathing: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the steadiness of everything, the certainty of it all.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

His mind was clearer with the addition of oxygen, and his eyes began to register light properly, colours forming as they should, instead of inky blobbed messes. He wasn't quite sure as to exactly  _ how  _ he'd come to find himself awake again; the lines between sleep and consciousness were blurred and hazy - there was never a certain point to it, never any reliability, nothing he could hold onto.

He needed that. Needed things like that. Reliability, control, knowledge of his own safety, needed to know, needed the calm, needed the sunrise, needed the sunset, and not the inbetween: days passed by in shades of grey, in nothingness, in a blur, in routine, and monotony, in nothingness that lay thick like smoke, choking him. Yet he needed it. He needed it to be so.

Because clarity and the open, and the feeling of something  _ real _ against his skin had his whole body on edge: overwhelmed, laying awake come dawn, because his mind was loud, loud and screaming in the overwhelming silence of it all, because his thoughts never stopped: coming in hordes and tearing him down, because there was a desire and there was a  _ need _ : an urgency, an obligation in this all; he  _ had _ to worry, and he  _ had _ to overthink, he had to lose himself in all of this, and he had to stand by and let it happen.

He was so very caught up in his own head, and now so very used to just leaving his own thoughts and worries strewn around messily, like junk in the house, like magazines on coffee table, like plates in the sink, because that's how he lived, and that's how he let himself  _ be _ : messy and destructive, cutting himself off as he secluded himself within his own mind: consumed with thought and worry.

But it was different now. Off puttingly different: bitterly different - the kind of different that brought nervous tremors and a constant sense of falling in the pit of his stomach. And Matty hated it; he hated to make it about him, he hated to build things up like this, to assign such things so much worth and power inside his own head, but he did, and he was helpless in doing so, because the clear root of this all was,  _ George _ .

George who tidied the magazines and cleaned the dishes, and put everything back in order, who made the house-  _ Matty's _ house look like it did last year, who made it look presentable, who made it look they had their lives together and organised. And perhaps Matty should have been thankful for George cleaning his fucking house, but it wasn't like that, it  _ meant _ more than that, it was George, coming back and sorting everything out, getting it clean, taking things back to how they were, how they 'should have been', and Matty didn't want to let him - didn't want to let him fix things and look at Matty like he could put his head back together and tie his worries down, because he couldn't, because Matty didn't want to be 'George's Matty' anymore... whatever that meant.

Whatever that fucking meant.

His head was spinning, and he found himself in that wonderful debate with himself as to whether he was physically ill or just fucked up, just fucked up and stressed out, and overwhelmed, and over thinking, and choking himself out on mere thought, because that was all too easy for him to do. He did it in his sleep, and pulled himself awake for sunrise: still, chest heavy, breathing forced, and mind  _ fixated _ .

Because George wanted him to do things - to get out of the house, to make things 'work'. He was acting like Ross, and Matty felt like a spiteful friend, Matty felt like the worst friend, but he... just... they didn't  _ understand _ , and in truth, Matty didn't understand himself, and of course, with that, he knew he couldn't expect them to, instead he expected them to just leave him alone, and let him sort this out by himself, but clearly that wasn't going to happen - clearly George was going to stick around for a while, and look at him like that.

And Matty didn't want to let him, but he would. Because George seemed to hold all the power in the world in his fucking eyes, and Matty hated that, Matty hated the silence, and how they'd become, and how he was the one who'd constructed this great  _ gaping _ rift between the two of them, and how no one had stopped him, and yet how they had all  _ tried _ .

It was his own fault, and he deserved the sickening feeling, deserved the headache, deserved how it all unfolded, and deserved the bitter end. He wondered when George would give up, because he had - he'd given up on him in January, and he'd give up on him again, because Matty could only figure that there wasn't really much appeal with living with him anymore, because George and Matty, they weren't really best friends anymore, they weren't really  _ George And Matty _ anymore.

There was George in the spare room, and then Matty in his own. There was the cool morning air, and there was the sun ascending over the horizon.

And there was his desk, and his typewriter, and the two lines he'd written before - those two lines about George, those two lines under the pretense of closure, those two lines that served little purpose anymore.

He thought to get up, to steady his breathing, to sit and get a glass of water, and just  _ think _ , just focus, and let his thoughts run through his fingertips and down onto the page. He needed to write something - he  _ always _ needed to write something, he just wasn't sure if he could anymore.

He found himself awkwardly out of touch with it, like they were friends who'd seen distance and had grown awkwardly bitter in the space of it, like a friendship pulled out and tested to far, but not  _ snapped _ , just decayed, faded away, almost pathetically, gradually, as things greyed out. The possibility of  _ forgetting _ how to write had his head spinning, because he couldn't  _ forget _ , because it just didn't work like that, it wasn't something you  _ forgot _ how to do, and yet, it made him sick, and it made him weak, because with fingers hovering above keys upon his typewriter, the world simply failed to make sense.

There was a divide: one hell of a divide between his head and the page - symbolic, perhaps, of the divide between himself and the rest of the world, he was cut off, and he'd been the one to do it. He'd torn himself away and let himself live differently, think in ways that didn't transmute to something substantial, physical, and meaningful, he'd let everything fade around him, and it had left him with an awkward kind of bitter taste in his mouth, because as always, it was all his fault.

And he fell back upon writing, upon poetry, upon the expression of feeling, always in times like this, but what was he supposed to fall back upon when he couldn't write, he'd couldn't write a poem to express the feeling of nothingness and the inability to put words on the page. He'd thrown himself into a dead end situation, and he saw no way out of it; he found himself reluctant to even make an attempt, his head aching and spinning, and his mind filled with an overbearing desire just to go back to bed.

Just to push everything else away and let unconsciousness claim his mind, as dreams were always a better alternative to reality, no matter the subject or the heart wrenching reality felt within them, because dreams were things that you could always wake up from. There was always an exit, always a way out.

It didn't work quite like that with life. Not really. 

Except it did. There was one way. But Matty didn't want to think about that, didn't even want to let his mind entertain the possibility, because he at least knew himself to the extent that he found certainty in the matter of his mind growing attached and perhaps even infatuated with the notion: blowing it out of control with urges and desires built up with no real explanation or reason.

He could let himself burn out, he could let himself fail, and let his life decay around him, but he couldn't go that far. That was too permanent: that came in heavy thuds and sudden realisations, and not gentle gradual slopes, and the sound of whispered voices, barely audible between rooms. He couldn't let himself go that far, for his mum, his dad, for Louis, for Ross, for Adam, for Allen.

For George. For George who lay likely asleep in the 'spare' bedroom, who lay blissful in all of this, yet unnerved slightly, because what Matty really hated in this all, was the way George caught on - the way George  _ knew _ him, and the way that in such a short space of time, George was so close to figuring this all out.

Matty just didn't want him to know. He didn't want to have those kinds of conversations, for he didn't like the brutal reality of the solutions, the effort of  _ fixing _ things, as he found it easier to simply grow accustomed to the way things were than to make the effort and take the pain of crawling back up to find something better. 

He didn't think those were the kind of things that George might understand. In all honesty, he didn't know.

There were conversations they should have, but different conversations. Conversations where the subject was George and not Matty, conversations about what  _ he'd _ been doing the past few months, how things had been, how everyone else had been, all their friends, who had been  _ their _ things when they were  _ George And Matty _ , but were just George's friends now. He wanted to know what they thought of him, because as much as he didn't care, he needed to know. He wanted to figure things out, he wanted to know if George missed Saffy, if George had missed him. If George regretted this, and what part - coming back, or leaving?

But those were the kind of conversations that required initiation and an odd kind of simple bravery in the form of facing him, and laying things out, and going outside, going to get some food in the house, going to look at fucking frozen vegetables in fucking Tesco and letting a blanket of 'fine' and 'calm' wrap around the both of them, and in all honestly, it scared Matty, because he couldn't, he couldn't just be  _ himself _ .

There was a divide, a void between them, and it was the kind of void that was tearing away at him, it was the kind of void that created absence and separation, it was the kind of void that had him awake at this hour, and it was perhaps the kind of void he could consider to blame in the place of himself.

-

It was several hours later when George woke up, feeling just as foreign and distant in the place he should have known so well as Matty did. There was a mutuality between their emotions than lay unspoken yet as something they both were vaguely aware of it, just laying out of reach, where they couldn't quite get at it, and didn't quite dare to.

It had been a weird night. It had all been weird.  _ Weird _ . Yet weird didn't quite encompass it at all, as George finally got out of bed, pulling himself up with reluctance, because this was a time in his life when there was no one getting him out of bed, and he wondered if it was likely that he'd have to be the one to go and check on Matty, go and wake him up, go and get him out of bed, and argue with him that it just wasn't a way he could spend an entire day.

George hated to admit that he didn't particularly want to. He didn't want to go through the process of jumping through those awkward hoops with Matty, but there was an inevitability within it all; he'd gone this far, he'd agreed to move in, and he couldn't just let it all fade away around them now.

He let out a sigh, facing his reflection in the mirror and cursing aloud, because in all honestly he looked so fucked and so exhausted, despite having slept for a good eight hours now. It was this, it was an emotional exhaustion - it was the silence, it was the distance, and it was George allowing him to do this to himself.

"Fuck." He groaned, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head at himself. He came to conclude that he'd go and make Matty a cup of coffee, and leave bringing that to him as his excuse to check on him; he hoped Matty would appreciate the gesture, as surely, what negative reaction could he get from making a cup of coffee? George had an awful feeling that Matty might leave him to find out.

George found himself in the kitchen just ten minutes later, leaning up against the countertop as he waited for the kettle to boil. He found himself again facing the dilemma of the fact that Matty had no more than three separate items of food in his entire kitchen, and found himself again reminded of the fact that they really had to go and get some food in, which lead him to only wonder just how Matty was going to react, just how this was going to play out, because George, of course, just didn't have the slightest idea.

Matty felt volatile. Like something George had to tiptoe around with caution. It wasn't a pleasant feeling - it was the low hum of worry in your chest as you dropped a spoon in the kitchen and it let out a bang against the floor. George didn't want it to bring Matty out of his room; he wasn't quite ready to face him yet.

He let out a groan, rubbing his temples - this was one fucking mess he'd thrown himself into. After a good four minutes spent staring at mostly empty cupboards, George came to conclude that he'd just skip breakfast and make something nice for lunch. He hoped Matty would appreciate that, no, he hoped at least that Matty would eat it,  _ with _ him, not cooped up alone in his room.

It came to the point where George decided that he couldn't  _ possibly _ waste anymore time stirring a fucking cup of coffee, and pulled himself together, picking the mug up, and carrying it out of the kitchen and into the hallway, a sigh escaping his lips as he stood outside Matty's room. He stood unsure as to whether he should knock, because that was the polite thing to do, but it wasn't a  _ Matty And George _ thing to do at all, and yet... they kind of weren't  _ Matty And George _ anymore. They were indecision in knocking, and a matter of faded lines, a lack of clarity, and the need for fcuking conversations that they just both found themselves terrified of initiating.

George didn't end up knocking, because fuck it. The worse case scenario would be that Matty was getting dressed, and it wasn't like they hadn't seen each other naked before. And honestly, just fuck it.

Matty wasn't naked. Matty was however somewhat startled: eyes wide, and sat at his desk, fingers hovering just above the keys on his typewriter -  _ writing _ . That was a good thing. George knew that was a good thing.

They shared a moment of prolonged eye contact, Matty looking back and forth between George and the cup of coffee before he managed to slip out a gentle, tentative, "hey..."

George cleared his throat, unsure of whether to put the cup down on the desk beside Matty, because he was writing, and Matty tended to be very private about that, even when they had been... well...  _ Matty And George _ , because best friends didn't cut it, nothing really did. "Uhh... I... made you some coffee..." George finally let the words out, "do you want... I..." he held it awkwardly in Matty's direction.

Matty took it from his grasp and placed it down beside him on the desk, he glanced back at the empty sheet of paper before him and muttered a quick, "thanks."

George let a smile grace his lips in return, and found himself slipping further into the room, leaning back against the wall, just watching Matty for a moment, prolonging the matter of bringing up going outside, the matter of them and any form of conversation that held any more meaning than small talk. He hated how they'd been reduced to  _ this _ , of all things.

"You... writing something?" George found himself daring to ask, daring to fill the silence, daring to face conversation, daring to face questions and the answers they may bring. 

Matty paused for a moment before moving his head to nod and letting out an awkward little noise in response. "I..." He exhaled deeply. "I... not really." He came to admit, formed somewhat as an afterthought.

"Not really?" George raised an eyebrow, risking it with a step forward, coming up behind Matty and glancing over his shoulder at an empty page. "Stuck?" He asked, and Matty gave another nod: a certain heaviness to his breath with George just centimetres away from him.

"I can't... I have so much to say, it's not that, I have... I need to write, like you... this is what I  _ need _ to do, but I just  _ can't _ ... it's like I've fucking forgotten  _ how _ to, and I just..." Matty stopped himself, shaking his head, and pushing his typewriter further back on his desk. "It's fucking pathetic, isn't it? Fucking pathetic. What the fuck am I supposed to do with myself? This is my fucking job."

"Hey..." George began, hand milimetres away from Matty's shoulder before he could stop himself, breath catching harshly in his throat. "Matty, mate, come on... it's just one bad day, this isn't the end of the world, come on, you'll get it again. Hasn't this happened at least four times before and all been fine?"

"Yeah... but..." Matty shook his head, attempting to shrug it off, "it wasn't like that then. Never was like this. It's different now. All fucked now." And perhaps Matty hadn't meant that to relate to his and George's relationship, but that was instantly how it came across for the both of them.

"Not all fucked." George was the one to break the silence. "No, it's not." His words came like a nervous promise: one he wasn't quite sure he could keep, yet one he was certainly going to make an effort with. 

Matty let out a sigh, leaning forward in his chair, before taking a sip of the coffee. "Thank you..." he mumbled, head down.

"For the coffee?" George came to assume, despite the fact that Matty already had thanked him for that.

Matty gave a shrug. "For trying." He didn't quite dare to meet George's gaze as he spoke. "I'm not. That's fucked up. I'm sorry. I think I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm such a fucking  _ mess _ , George, honestly, I fucking-"

"Hey..." George put his hand down on Matty's shoulder this time, because  _ fuck it _ . "Hey, Matty, come on, it's going to be alright, you know? Let me help you. We can sort this out."

"That's what you fucking think though." Matty words came out half choked, and George hated how he could already tell that he was close to tears, and indeed hated the prospect of it. "That's what you fucking think, and you knew me before, but I'm not the same person anymore, and I just... you need to get that. I've changed and you can't just come back and fucking assume everything's  _ fine _ , I just..."

"Sorry..." George stepped back, pulling away from Matty, "I don't know... I'm just trying to be... I don't know I'm trying to be your friend again."

"If you want to be friends then don't act how we were before because it was different. Don't go and deny that. It was different." Matty trailed off, biting his lip. "Or am I just fucked up in the head, come on, I just fucking- I'm  _ fucked up _ , George, oh my god, I'm so fucking  _ fucked _ ."

"Matty..." George found himself trying again, "look at me, for fuck's sake, look at me a minute." And with that, Matty did. He let out a sigh. "It was different, and I'm sorry. I fucked up. Big time." He paused, glancing across at the window, at the morning sky, and wondered how long Matty had sat up watching it for. "I don't want to push things, I don't want to... I just want things to work this time, however they end up doing that. I want us to work again."

Matty gave a nod. "I'm making this difficult, though. I'm so fucking fucked up, George, and I can't help myself, I'm just so, I'm treating you like shit."

"Matty, mate," George let out a sigh, "shut the fuck up, alright?" Matty let out a small laugh at that. "You're talking shit. You're just finding it hard that I'm suddenly back in your life and that's understandable, and maybe I shouldn't have listened to Ross. Maybe I should, I don't know, but I'm here now, we're here now. Look, come to fucking Tesco with me, just get some food in. Fresh air would be good for you."

"Ah, yes the fresh fucking air of the Tesco car park. Mmm... exhaust fumes-"

" _ Fuck off."  _ George rolled his eyes, "you know what I mean. Just come on, when was the last time you went outside?" George wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't somewhat petrified of the answer.

"Other day, to meet Ross and Hann, you know that, you snuck into my fucking house while I was gone." Matty snapped, rolling his eyes, however there was a certain light heartedness to his tone that hadn't been present before.

"Yeah... uhh... apart from that?" George let out a sigh, "sorry about that, that was kind of... a dick move...?"

"Yeah." Matty leaned back in his chair, "yeah, fuck, it was."

"So?" George continued, "when was the last time you went out, like properly, to do something with people?"

Matty groaned, " _ fuck _ . I don't... I don't really  _ know _ , okay?" He ran a hand back through his hair, "that's bad, isn't it? I mean, I can't... I can't take fucking care of myself, but I... fuck, it doesn't matter."

"You'll feel better if you go outside. Promise." George wasn't one hundred percent confident in that, but he knew for sure that  _ he'd _ feel better texting Ross with proof that he'd gotten Matty to leave the house. 

"How would you know that?" Matty made a point of looking unconvinced.

"Just trust me, alright? We need to get food in anyway, I'll pay for it-"

"How fucking courteous, what a gentleman, buying me Rice Krispies-"

"I'm sorry but it's Coco Pops or you can fuck right off."

Matty smiled, getting up from his desk. "Alright, you win. Alright."

-

_ 'How are things going?' _

Ross texted George just three minutes after the two had finally made it out of the house. There had been quite the mess of getting ready that was honestly not so unlike how it had been before, and amidst that chaos, George had found an odd kind of comfort, even if it had taken Matty almost forty minutes to decide what to wear to go down to fucking Tesco in, but the important part was that they'd made it out eventually.

_ 'Alright actually. Not perfectly but I got him to go outside.' _

George couldn't help let a smile fold over his lips as he send his response; Matty seemed to notice, and raise an eyebrow in response, but didn't make any kind of proper comment.

_ 'See I told you he doesn't hate you.' _

George's smile faltered slightly, because as much as he was certain that Ross was right in the fact that Matty didn't  _ hate _ him, he just, he wasn't sure as to whether Matty  _ liked _ him or not, or at all.

_ 'I don't know. Things aren't the same.' _

George eventually texted back, very aware of how Matty's gaze regarded him: as if he wanted to ask, as if he wanted to initiate some form of conversation, but was holding himself back, out of fear, or god knows what.

_ 'You got him to leave the house with you that's some serious progress.' _

George shook his head, and felt Matty's eyes on him with more intent than ever before, still, he texted Ross back once more, before putting his phone back into his jacket pocket.

_ 'We're at fucking Tesco, it's nothing special.' _

With the lack of his phone as a distraction, he found his gaze moving quickly to meet Matty's, and the two shared a look which neither could quite decipher. However, it was Matty who was first to break the silence, "who were you texting?"

"Ross." George told him, and found Matty continuing to regard him with an air of skepticality. "What? I was texting Ross."

"Smiling a bit much." Matty gave a shrug and quickened his pace, leaving George to make a slight effort to catch up, but George's legs were like four times as long as Matty's so it wasn't much of a big deal.

"And you're suggesting that the mere matter of talking to Ross Macdonald isn't something wonderful that should be cherished?" George gave a grin, but Matty only seemed to raise his eyebrows further.

"What were you talking about? Getting back together with Saffy? How much you regret making an effort with me-"

" _ Matty _ ." George let out a sigh, running a hand back through his hair, "can you not, I... I just... I'm not getting back together with her. I don't regret making an effort with you. You know what I regret in this all, and that was fucking it up in the first place."

Matty paused for a moment, looking a little startled, "sorry, I guess, I just. I don't know. I'm a bit... well... fucked up, really. I'm just kind of... scared you're going to just fuck off again, even though it was my fault, and I- fuck, doesn't matter." He glanced up at George and offered him a smile, which looked genuine, at first glance, at least. "I'm overthinking things. Overthinking everything."

"Not going to fuck off again." George told him, but despite the sincerity in his tone, Matty could never quite bring himself to fully believe him. And then again, Matty was only half sure that he didn't want him to, and found himself drowning in indecisiveness and overthinking. "And for the record, we were talking about how things were going with me and you."

-

Matty was perhaps overly serious when it came to choosing between loaves of bread, and George found himself in total disbelief as to how he'd actually managed to do any shopping without someone there to tell him that he couldn't stare at one item for fifteen minutes.

"Matty, come on, it's a loaf of bread what's the difference?" George let out a sigh, having been left to push the trolley around, as Matty had declared him the 'big, strong' one out of the two of them, and George was just far too happy with that level of friendly banter to argue.

"It's white or brown, I mean, brown is healthier for you, and that's important, don't you think, but white tastes better, but then some white bread tastes like plastic so, I mean, I don't know, George-" Matty glanced between a white and a brown loaf of bread as he spoke.

"I don't know, do you want me to write out a pros and cons list?" George gave a chuckle, "come on, mate, it's fucking  _ bread _ ."

"Yeah, but if you have the wrong bread for toast in the morning then your whole day sucks- can you actually write up a pros and cons list, that'd be quite helpful-" As Matty began to ramble on again, he was cut off as George rolled his eyes and reached over him to grab a loaf of '50/50' from the top shelf. 

"Problem solved." He told him, placing it in the trolley, and meeting a rather confused looking Matty with a smile. "If you're that fussed about it we can get both brown and white but they'd probably go off before we could eat them-"

"No," Matty shook his head, "you're right, it's fine, I mean, it's just bread, isn't it?" Matty forced his lips up into a smile, and followed George to the next aisle of the store.

Matty had a lot of indecision when it came to simple items, and as much as George assumed that such behaviour would irritate him, he simply found himself glad that Matty was acting normally around him, well mostly, and that he'd managed to get him to do something more than sit and stare at nothingness in his bedroom.

George found himself somewhat spaced out, following Matty around with the trolley as he decided that they need at least four different flavours of fruit juice, despite the fact that George had only ever seen Matty drink coffee and wine. And found that he didn't really notice what was happening until Matty was shoving two packets of biscuits in his face.

"I.. uhh?" He blinked and brought himself back to reality. "Matty?"

"Chocolate digestives or Jammie Dodgers?" Matty asked him, looked a little more stressed than he should do when it came to deciding between two different brands of biscuit.

"Uhh..." George thought for a moment, finding himself put on the spot, "digestives?" He wasn't entirely confident in his answer, but it was apparently all the reassurance Matty needed before placing the digestives into the trolley and standing around awkwardly with the Jammie Dodgers.

"I don't want to uh... put them back, I, let's just hide them here..." Matty stumbled to shove them behind a carton of apple juice.

"Hey, why not?" George asked, reaching out and grabbing Matty by the arm in order to stop him. He wondered if perhaps that had been a mistake, especially with the way Matty seemed to tense up all over at the touch, but it was too late to rectify it now. "Matty, what's wrong?"

"Uhh..." Matty let out a sigh, shoving the Jammie Dodgers behind the apple juice and turning to face George, "just... well I saw... Saffy like... over there, and that's... so fucking typical... I..."

George let out a sigh, "come on, she's not the antichrist, is she?" He took the Jammie Dodgers back, "I'll go put them back, you can stay here if you want-"

"You're going to come back though-"

"For fuck's sake, Matty, of course I'm going to come back, it's not like she's going to come and sweep me off my feet in the biscuit aisle of the local Tesco, is it?" He let out a sigh, shaking his head, "sorry, I... I'll literally be thirty seconds." 

And that was what brought George Daniel to jog down into the biscuit aisle, and look frantically for the original place of the Jammie Dodgers, only glancing briefly down the aisle to confirm that, yes, she was there, and this was kind of awkward, but not the end of the world or anything - she was nice, after all.

As he put the Jammie Dodgers back, he looked up to see that Saffy had in fact noticed him, and was looking directly in his direction. They stood like that for a few moments, she flashed him a smile and a wave, and George gave her a nod, before turning and rushing off back to Matty.

"That was longer than thirty seconds." Matty informed him as he returned to their trolley. "That was a good minute, you know?"

George offered him a smile, "but it was fine, wasn't it? Nothing bad happened, did it?"

Matty shrugged and moved closer to George, seeming far too shaken up by the entire experience than he should have been. "I mean, yeah, but I..." He gave a shrug, "I don't know, it just makes me uncomfortable, I... don't know... I start overthinking and it freaks me out, and I start thinking all these ridiculous things that could have happened to you and they sound ridiculous but I can't stop them, it's just... I'm fucked up, honestly."

George wanted nothing more than to pull Matty into a hug, right into his chest, right there in the fruit juice aisle of Tesco, but he stopped himself, unsure if that was really a thing they could do anymore. "I'm sorry." He let out a sigh, curling his fingers around Matty's wrist instead, "that's not your fault, okay? Look, I promise, I'm not going to leave you, Matty, I can't. I was stupid and I didn't see how much you mattered to me."

"I feel like a fucking idiot, though, I mean what kind of dickhead can't go outside without feeling fucking nervous about everything, and overthinking everything to the point that it's fucked up, and just, I mean, I'm twenty six, I can't... fucking... just, I should be able to cope if you go and put some fucking biscuits back for a minute, and I don't know why but I just  _ can't _ ." Matty looked dangerously close to tears.

"Fuck, Matty, it's not your fault, okay, look, none of this is your fault. At all, I promise." George let go of his wrist and glanced around; they hadn't quite finished shopping, but he thought that it was better to get Matty home before things got any worse. "Look, let's go pay now, alright?"

"Yeah," Matty gave a nod and followed George to the checkout, standing there awkwardly, and biting his fingernails as George conversed casually with the cashier, making small talk, and smiling brightly, before paying and packing their items up into bags.

Once he'd finished, George met Matty with the same kind of smile, noticing how small he looked, stood there, almost seeming to curl in on himself with his arms up over his chest, and his legs pressed together.

"Alright?" George asked him, and Matty gave a nod, taking a bag from George. "You don't have to-" Matty shook his head in response.

"It's okay." He made a weak attempt at a smile as they left the shop.

They didn't speak much on the walk home, and George spent the time pondering over what had happened, and  _ Matty _ , and how it must feel to live inside his own head like that, and how it must feel to have all of those thoughts, because George sure knew that it wasn't  _ normal _ to think like that, and that was a cause for concern somehow, and that he desperately wanted to help Matty with it, but there was of course the matter of whether or not Matty would actually  _ let _ him, and then of course the matter of how the fuck he could go about it.

He'd have to talk to Ross and Adam about this, despite the fact that he suspected that Matty would have qualms with George telling them this, because Matty was always a private person, and if he let things about his state of mind slip out they weren't to be shared at any cost, but he needed help with this,  _ Matty _ needed help with this, regardless of whether he wanted it or not.

What was worst of all, was of course the suspicion at the back of George's mind that this was linked back to him, linked back to him leaving Matty earlier that year, and that this was all his fault.

However, of course, if it was his fault, it was certainly his duty to put it right again. Or at least try to, as of course, success was far from guaranteed, but that definitely wasn't going to stop him at all.

-

Matty had spent the afternoon in his room, and George imagined that he needed space, needed time to calm down and think with how things had been that morning, and as much as George had wanted to talk things through with him, he put that aside for the moment, finding himself comforted by the sounds of Matty's typewriter as he walked past his room.

George had spent the time in the living room, with the TV on low volume in the background, serving as some sort of excuse to lay out across the sofa with his eyes half closed. Allen had joined him at some point, curling up next to his feet, appearing just as close to sleeping as George was himself. In fact, George likely would have dozed off if his phone hadn't vibrated in his pocket and near enough gave him a heart attack.

He let out a groan, not really wanting to see what it was, not really want to talk to people and just doze off instead, but he remembered then that he hadn't texted Ross back since that morning, and it was likely him, worried about them.

It was Ross. Not just Ross, though, Ross and Adam, they'd added him to a group message, which hadn't been a thing they'd really had since New Year, and then of course, Matty had been included, and it felt very weird for him not to be there, but then again, leaving for four months had been a very  _ weird _ thing for George to do himself.

_ 'How did the shopping trip go?' _

Ross had been the first to send a message, and it looked harmless all in all, but George was suspecting that there was definitely something else going on, especially with the whole group chat thing.

_ 'Alright. What's with the chat? _ '

George replied, and his message remained as 'seen' for a few moments, until Adam changed the group chat name to 'Matty Support Unit Group Chat', and George couldn't help but roll his eyes.

_ 'Why?' _

Ross got there before him and changed the name to 'It's just a group message', which sounded fake, but okay.

Instead of replying, Adam changed the group name to 'you literally called it a support unit about three minutes ago i have screenshots'.

Ross then changed the name to 'go fuck yourself hann'.

_ 'Guys?' _

George sent a message, attempting to stop them, but failing for the most part.

Adam sent the aforementioned screenshots, which showed Ross messaging him about creating a 'Matty discussion chat', which he then referred to as a 'support unit chat'.

_ 'Okay fine, whatever. We want to check up on Matty, see how he's doing, because you've probably seen more of him than we have since January just by living with him for two days.' _

Ross finally came to admit in a message, and George found himself nodding in real life.

_ 'So what's going on with him? I mean there's something isn't there? I feel like there's something that's like changed him?' _

Adam added, before George could even begin to type out his response.

_ 'I'm not entirely sure, he feels really guilty, like this is his fault, and he has changed, I don't know exactly, but I think something's up with him like mentally, I don't think he's in a good state, like maybe something's wrong, I don't know, he gets really nervous about everything and starts over thinking and when we were in tesco we had to leave because he looked like he was about to have a breakdown after I left him for a minute to put some biscuits back.' _

It was a good minute or two before George got a response, and it was Adam who it first came from.

_ 'Well fuck.' _

It really wasn't the most helpful response, but it was the most honest.

_ 'Yeah. He's not going to open up about it though, not really.'  _ George replied.

_ 'That doesn't sound good at all. You've got to try to talk to him about it, though. He listens to you the most.' _

George regarded Ross' reply with raised eyebrows; he wasn't entirely sure that it was true that Matty listened to him the most, but Ross did tend to be right about things.

_ 'New Year is still a bit confusing though. Why did Matty react that badly to you and Saffy? Does he really hate her or something?' _

It was that second message from Ross that had George's heart dropping in his chest.

_ 'Yeah, I mean, that never really made that much sense. She's nice enough. I mean you broke up, but she was.' _

Adam added, leaving George coming to the very sudden realisation that neither Adam nor Ross had any idea what had been going on, and how things had been different in December, and how George had fucked up like that.

The idea of Matty keeping that inside himself for so long made George feel a little bit sick, but he came to realise that he'd also neglected to tell anyone that detail. It wasn't that he was ashamed, it was just such a  _ private _ thing - it was a  _ Matty And George _ thing, and as much as he wanted to be open about things, he didn't want to tell them that, he really didn't think that it was something Matty wanted to acknowledge for the time being, and he was more than certain that it wasn't something that they were going to drop with very little said.

_ 'George?' _ Ross asked after George had failed to reply for a few minutes.

_ 'Wait did something else happen?' _ Adam added.

George let out a sigh, not entirely sure what to say.

_ 'You should tell us if something did.'  _ Ross managed to convey a stubborn sense of sincerity even via text message, but still, George just couldn't.

_ 'There was something else but I can't tell you. I really, really don't think Matty would want me to. I don't want to tell you myself either.'  _ George held his breath as his phone told him that his message had been seen by the other two.

_ 'It'd help us understand what the fuck actually went on, you know.' _ Adam was the first to respond.

_ 'He's right, we can't help unless we know everything that's gone on.' _ Ross had a point, and George hated to admit it, but it wouldn't have him changing his mind.

_ 'It's too personal, I'm sorry. It is really personal.' _ George bit his lip, wondering if he could perhaps give them the gist of the situation.  _ 'But I really hurt Matty by kissing Saffy that night. But it's still kind of complicated, even with the personal thing. We haven't really properly talked about it yet.' _

_ 'Okay, but tell us everything else. We want to help.' _

_ 'Ross, I know you do. I will.' _ George glanced up at the time on his phone, and saw that it was getting late, he stretched out and sent a final message, something vague about having to make dinner, to the group that was still titled 'go fuck yourself hann', before putting his phone on silent and back into his pocket.

_ - _

George wasn't entirely sure  _ what _ to make for dinner, because he hadn't really been doing the cooking for the past few months, but he was certain that he had to make something nice, guessing that Matty hadn't really been eating properly for a while now.

As he stood in the kitchen, looking through the same cupboards over and over again, and realising that he really did have absolutely no idea what he was doing, he eventually came to find himself pulling his phone out and googling for some inspiration.

Everything suggested to him looked far too fancy, and he really wasn't that good at cooking, and he definitely found himself going through some questionable articles, such as '15 Easy Dinner Recipes For Two To Wow Your Man', which well, wasn't really written for him, but it did kind of apply.

He eventually gave up trying to pretend he knew what he was doing and decided to make chicken risotto instead. That was just chicken and rice and vegetables, and that - couldn't be that hard, could it?

George ended up putting his phone down on the counter and playing music from it, finding that unfortunately he didn't already have a 'Cooking Dinner For Matty To Try And Make Things Better Between Them Without Actually Talking About Things' playlist, so he decided that putting his music on shuffle would just have to do.

And as time went on, George found that there was a calming quality to all of this - to cooking, to being around Matty, to being in their house, and living inside the illusion that things were just like they had been before, smiling and half dancing around the kitchen like an idiot, like it was  _ them _ again, like they'd eat this together in front of the TV and fall asleep curled up on the sofa because neither of them wanted to sleep without the other, yet neither of them were ever quite ready to face up to the reality of that.

Matty wandered into the kitchen as George was nearly finished cooking, just giving it a final stir before serving it onto plates, and finding himself insistent to stir it as much as possible as to avoid the matter of taking it to Matty to eat in his room, and then sitting alone, as he imagined that was how things would be.

"You're cooking?" George was too caught up in his own head to really notice Matty until he took his place beside him, eyes on the risotto, and began to speak.

He looked up, eyes widening slightly, "yeah.. I..." He leaned back and let out a sigh, reaching for his phone and turning the music off so he could take Matty in properly; he looked happier, like he was in a better state since that morning, and that, right there upon his face,  _ definitely _ seemed to be a smile.

"Didn't expect that." Matty had to admit, running a hand back through his hair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" George raised an eyebrow, letting a smile fall over his lips. "And well, what else we were going to eat? I'm not letting you eat pre-packaged shit, alright, come on, I can guess that you haven't really been eating proper meals for a while."

Matty gave a shrug. "I don't know, I guess, I mean, I'm not good at cooking-"

"You've gotten skinnier." George commented, not intending for such a harsh tone to be present in his voice, but finding that he couldn't really prevent it.

"Yeah..." Matty looked down at himself and let out a sigh. "I have."

George regarded him with concern: his gaze warm and comforting, but he remained silent, as he served the risotto up onto two plates, taking more time than necessary, because he wanted Matty to stay there with him for as long as possible, but there was only a maximum amount of time you could spending serving a meal onto two plates.

"Smells nice that." Matty commented as George put the pan into the sink to wash up later. "Maybe you're not so bad at cooking."

"Hey, what are you saying? I'm an  _ excellent _ cook." George insisted, taking his phone off the countertop and sliding it back into his pocket.

"Could taste like shit, don't know until we've ate it, do we?" Matty grinned up at him, seeming so very different from the Matty who George had spoke with that morning, so very different from the Matty who nearly had a breakdown in the fruit juice aisle of Tesco. "Are we eating this-... do you want to get something on TV?" 

It was that which had George's heart pounding in his chest. "I thought you'd be having it in your room, I mean, didn't you have writing to do-?" He wasn't entirely sure why his first response was try and push Matty away from the thing he wanted most; it was perhaps just the fact that he felt like it was just far too good to be true.

"I can fuck off if you want-"

" _ No _ ." George exclaimed, before sighing, and leaning back against the counter, "not that, please don't. I want to... get something on TV, and that."

Matty offered him a smile, "I did some writing earlier, you know? I think maybe you were right about the whole going outside thing."

"You  _ did _ ?"

"God, don't sound so surprised, it is my fucking job, you know?"

-

They ended up watching a late re-run of Masterchef because that was really the only half decent thing on, and George had been very vocal about how they couldn't watch Countryfile, whereas Matty had entertained the possibility with a grin, which had then turned into a fit of laughter as George had attempted to pull the TV remote away from and change the channel over.

Of course, the whole process of doing so had left them sitting awfully close to one another, with George pressed up against the armrest, and Matty only centimetres away from him, however, it became apparent over time that Matty wasn't really all that inclined to move away from him, even as they finished eating, and lay there with mostly empty plates on the coffee table, and the last fifteen or so minutes of Masterchef running on in the background.

"I think my cooking was better than his." George began, pointing vaguely at the screen, and accidentally elbowing Matty as he moved his arm. "Fuck, sorry."

Matty only smiled in response, pulling his knees up to his chest, before just moving so he was sat cross legged. "Debatable."

"You ate all of it. Would you have if it was shit?" George held a very valid point there, Matty had to admit, as much as he had to admit that he was all in all very flushed about George cooking for him, and about the two of them sat there together, and all in all, with what he'd written on his mind.

"Ate it to make you feel better, obviously." Matty pulled a face. George wasn't convinced.

"You liked it." He persisted, "come on, admit it, it was well good, I'm like a proper chef now."

"Alright, whatever, are you gonna be on next year's Masterchef then?" Matty gave him a gentle shove, before letting his head fall onto George's shoulder.

"Yeah, I only really try to cook nice food when you're eating it, though, so you're going to have to come on and taste everything I make." George only realised quite what he'd said once he had said it, because there was an awful lot hidden up away under the cover of a joke.

"Yeah..." Matty smiled, "I guess I will."

They then sat in silence, so oddly comfortable with one another as the program ended, and Matty reached to turn the TV off, and living the two of them, just sitting there for a good ten minutes.

"I'm tired," Matty eventually announced, more into George's shoulder than anything else.

George raised his eyebrows: certain that it wasn't that late at all, and picked up his phone to check, disregarding the six new messages from 'go fuck yourself hann' as he did so. "It's like half nine. Twenty past really."

Matty gave a shrug, "got up early."

And George wanted more than anything to ask just  _ how _ early, but he suspected that it was perhaps better if he didn't threaten to ruin the moment. "Are you gonna go to bed then?" He came to ask instead.

Matty paused for a moment, as if uncertain of his response, but after a minute or so had passed, he came to shake his head. "No... I'm... don't wanna move, really." George took in a sharp gasp of breath: December returning to his head, all at once, running him down like it was a train and he wasn't quite what was going on or at all how he'd managed to stumble out onto the tracks. 

"Might just stay here..." He continued, leaving another paused to followed, and Matty's tone told of uncertainty within himself, of a slight anxiety, masked the best he could, because this was still odd for them, as much as they might have desperately yearned for it to be anything but. "Is that okay?"

George leaned back, closing his eyes momentarily himself, wondering what kind of mess this could possibly lead them to this time, because if he knew anything, it was that it hasn't ended up well last time, and that didn't bode well for now, and of course, the answer was just in biting the fucking bullet and  _ talking _ about things, but he couldn't quite do that, not now, not yet.

"Yeah, course." His response came mumbled, and with a small smile across his lips - a smile to deny and push back any kind of regret that might linger across his mind, because he was of course, human, and what we were if not so clumsy and stupid with rationality and decision making?

Then of course, there was nothing that ever said all stupid decisions had to be  _ bad _ . Stupid and bad were two very different things, and could stay worlds away from each other. As of course, George was very happy to admit that the way he felt about Matty was kind of stupid, but he would die before he ever said that it was at all  _ bad _ .

-


	4. these chapters are getting long as fuck but i have no regrets

He knew that it was a gradual fade: the changing of states of consciousness, slowly falling asleep, and slowly waking up again, both in such a matter that it was pretty much impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when you stopped being asleep and started being awake again. It was just that a lot of the time, things didn’t feel like that; he felt drowned out, washed away downstream as everything happened far too fast around him and left him choking for air and struggling to stay afloat.

Waking up that morning came as a very sudden moment. The morning after Matty had let it happen, let things fall into place around him, placing his trust in George - George who seemed to look at him and indeed understand like not much had happened between them at all, as if four months had evaporated into thin air, but of course, the thing was that life didn’t really work like that.

Waking up came with sudden realisation, with his heart pounding in his chest, cold sweats, and his head pounding against his skull: his whole body seeming to scream at him from the inside.

There was the dropping sensation in his stomach - regret, confusion, a mess of everything and a struggle to breathe as he pulled himself away from George, who lay still soundly asleep on the sofa. Matty was just able to make his figure out amidst the thick blanket of darkness that had fallen over, and eventually smothered his living room. He desperately wanted to reach for the light switch, to fill the world with the comforting warm glow of yellow light: a falsified sense of safety to bide him by until the sun rose back over the horizon once more, but he couldn’t do so as to not wake George up in all of this.

Getting George’s attention was the last thing he wanted to do in all of this; he’d already done too much, he’d already let him get too involved. He’d fucked up - he could see that now, somehow, through the pounding of his head and his heart that seemed to encompass and swallow his body whole.

He was fucked. So fucked. And he’d let this all happen, because this was always his downfall - getting too close to people, letting them understand him, letting them hurt him, letting them use the deepest corners of his mind and his most guarded secrets against him. Last year, he’d made the mistake of thinking that George was different, but he certainly wasn’t going to let himself make that mistake again.

He’d gotten comfortable with the idea of everything, eating dinner together, going out together, talking, laughing, and falling asleep together, and to repeat something exactly and to expect different results the next time around was the kind of insanity that Matty needed to push himself away from.

He’d let George get comfortable with the idea of them again - let him think that he could fix this, and that putting him back together in his own image would be a good idea, because Matty knew that he was more than what George saw of him, and as much as he wanted things to be okay, and as much as George mattered, with the deep kind of ache at the bottom of his heart, he wasn’t the entire world, and it was of course how they’d gone wrong last time. Matty had given too much to him, let George take too much away, let him redefine him in his own image, let Matty adjust, and let Matty fall, as trust crumbled, as trust always did, because promises lasted only in people’s heads, and not in reality.

Matty made it across the darkened living room as quietly as he could, shaking all over as he pulled open the bathroom door and locked himself inside: reaching for the light and falling down to his knees against the wall as the room was illuminated around him.

The harsh white glow of the light was cruel to his eyes, and sent a piercing sensation too his head: it was too bright, it was too much, especially intertwined with the mess and the headache of it all that he was yet to sort out. Yet, he found solace in the fact that he was alone, solace in the light, solace in the locked door between him and the rest of the world, he was safe here, even if just temporarily, because he couldn’t trust George like he wished he could. He couldn’t trust anybody, not really.

He sat there for a few moments, attempting to steady his breathing as he began to sort through his thoughts and just make sense of the past few minutes, because before, so very few minutes before now, he’d been asleep, curled up and everything had been okay. No, everything had been locked away in the facade of okay - he’d gotten caught up in pretending, he’d gotten satisfied in the steady climb up the cliff that he’d one day find himself tumbling off - turning back was harder, and it had his whole body screaming at him, but it was what he had to do, he could let everything he’d known before repeat around him, things had to change, even if he wasn’t entirely sure that he was strong enough to do so himself.

He’d woken up so suddenly: his heart seizing in his chest in a moment of panic, and triggered in such a deep layer of sleep that Matty failed to recall exactly what, if anything had brought it on. He wondered if it was perhaps the suddenly slap in the face return to reality, and the few moments where he’d forgotten the events of the past few days, where he’d forgotten how they’d gotten to this state again, and it was the gasping and struggling breaths as his head was pulled above water just once he’d gotten to the point where he was perhaps content in drowning and watching the world grow dark around him.

It couldn’t happen again, not this time. He was determined to be more than George’s Matty, because what did that even mean? It left him with a heavy feeling in his heart, with a tear across his chest, with sobs caught up in his throat as everything came back into focus all too soon.

His breathing finally began to steady, and he found himself finding a slight comfort in the bright bathroom light, and the small room around him, feeling an odd kind of safe that perhaps didn’t add up exactly perfectly, but didn’t matter so much in the scheme of things. As he came to think straight once more, he found himself stretching his legs out across the bathroom floor, and taking in himself, and the fact that he was still in his jeans, as they’d fallen asleep there together, as he’d been the one to prompt that, and as George had let him.

What could George think of all of this? Did he want to let everything fall apart again? Was he planning just to bring him back to a state of vague mental stability and then leave again? Was this all temporary, or would he never leave him be? Matty couldn’t quite decide which he hated more.

He then came to realise that as he’d fallen asleep in his jeans, his phone still lay in the pocket of them, and perhaps on instinct, as opposed to desire, he reached for it and turned the screen on. 

It was three twenty seven in the morning.

And he really didn’t know what to do with himself, because as much as he wanted to, he knew it wasn't realistic that he could stay locked in the bathroom until the sun came up. He found himself in the odd situation of needing help, of wanting someone get him back together again, but not trusting anyone enough to do so.

He scrolled through his contacts on his phone, all very few of them, and in doing so came to notice that he had a new text message from Adam, just three hours ago around midnight. He found a falsified sense of security in his hope that Adam would be asleep now, and that he could view the message and contemplate the matter of replying to it for a good few hours to come.

_ ‘Why don’t you want to talk about what really happened at New Year?’ _

What really happened? Matty’s heart began to thud in his chest. What could he mean? He couldn’t  _ know _ . He couldn’t  _ possibly  _ know. George wouldn’t have told them - he would have known if George had said anything. This was different. This was Adam trying to piece things together him, and in all honesty, Matty didn’t know what to think about it.

Five minutes passed by as Matty continued to stare at the message on his screen: reading it over in his head hundreds of times, and each time with a slightly different tone to it, and with a slightly different meaning. Matty was interrupted in doing so by what he had least expected - another message.

_ ‘Matty, I am awake, and I know you’re awake.’ _

Matty’s heart sunk in his chest and he threw his head back against the bathroom wall, because what the fuck was he doing awake? What the  _ fuck _ was he doing awake, and doing checking to see if he’d read his text message? He highly doubted that Adam was sat in his own bathroom on the verge of some form of mental breakdown like Matty was - they’d be even less use to each other then.

_ ‘Matty!!!’ _ Adam sent a third reply this time, and Matty came to accept that he couldn’t just keep reading everything, because he knew him, and there’d be a point where he figured out that something was wrong, and then he’d probably call George until he woke up and get him to actually  _ do _ something to sort him out. Matty couldn’t face that - not now, not anymore.

_ ‘Sorry. I’m half asleep.’ _ Matty knew that it was unlikely he’d be believed even as he sent it, yet he found himself doing so regardless.

_ ‘No you’re not. Why don’t you want to talk about it? I know something else happened.’ _

Matty took in a shaky breath of air as he read the message over in his head at least twenty times.

_ ‘But you don’t know what it was that happened.’ _ Matty had to confirm, had to stop his head from sending this all spiralling out of control, because that wasn’t what he needed, not now, fuck, especially not now.

_ ‘I don’t. And I know you won’t tell me, so I wondered if you would tell me why.’ _ His response was instant: all too fast, and Matty didn’t have enough time to think this all through at all. He wanted just to turn his phone off and hide himself away in the bathroom forever, but he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere, because he’d made the mistake of letting his friends know him too well. There was, however, a part of Matty that wondered if that was such a bad kind of mistake at all.

_ ‘You’ve been thinking about this all, haven’t you?’ _ Matty chose to avoid the question, struggling even to answer for it himself in his own head, let alone find the confidence to share it with Adam.

_ ‘Yeah. It doesn’t quite make sense that’s why. We’re missing something, and things aren’t going to go back to how they were if we don’t figure that out.’ _

Matty felt his insides curling in on themselves at the thought of things going back to how they were before. 

_ ‘I don’t want things to go back to how they were before.’ _

It seemed that his response left Adam somewhat stumped, as it took a good minute until he replied that time.  _ ‘You don’t? Why not? You were happy before, everything was alright.’ _

Matty let out a sigh.  _ ‘It wasn’t quite like that. I was happy to an extent, it was a steady decline, and if we go back to how things were before then things are going to get bad again. Things need to be different this time and no one else seems to understand that.’ _

Adam’s response was once again prolonged.  _ ‘No one else can understand that because no one else knows what’s going on inside your head or what actually happened. You need to open up about things. Tell me what you want to be different this time.’ _

Matty thought for a moment: unsure himself.  _ ‘I want everyone to stop acting like they know me and making decisions for me. I want everyone to stop letting things just fall apart. I want to talk about things, especially with George, but I’m not brave enough really.’ _

_ ‘We all want to talk about things, Matty, you’re the one stopping the talking.’ _

Matty thought for a moment,  _ ‘I’m not ready yet. I can’t talk about things yet. I don’t know what I want, and I’m scared.’ _

_ ‘But you will eventually?’ _

Matty sighed, hating the reality of it all, but finding himself forced to accept it regardless.  _ ‘Yeah. I have to.’ _

There was again a slight wait until Adam responded.  _ ‘What are you doing awake? I started watching Game Of Thrones and I feel like I’ve already given up my entire life to it.’ _

Matty let himself smile at that, making a mental list of reasons why he couldn’t just reply with ‘that’s nice, I’m having a mental breakdown in my own bathroom’.  _ ‘I woke up in the middle of the night.’ _ Was what he went for instead.

_ ‘Then go back to sleep. Get George to sing you a lullaby or something if you have to.’ _

Matty found himself wincing slightly at the mention of George.  _ ‘I can’t. He’s asleep and I can never get back to sleep after I wake up.’ _

Adam’s reply was almost instantaneous.  _ ‘Then wake him up, he’ll understand. You’re not good when you’re alone, especially in the middle of the night.’ _

_ ‘I don’t want to. I can’t. You don’t understand.’ _

_ ‘You’re in a state, aren’t you?’  _ Matty hated how he knew, how he’d let him in this much, how his friends could read him like this, because as much as he needed them to, he just couldn’t face the reality of it.

_ ‘No.’  _

_ ‘You are. Wake him up.’  _ There was a demanding tone to Adam’s message that had Matty shaking slightly.

_ ‘I don’t want to talk to him. I’m in a state because of him, because I keep thinking about New Year.’  _ Matty admitted, finding himself coming to regret it before he’d even hit send, yet doing so anyway.

_ ‘You have to talk to him. He’s just George, why are you scared?’ _

_ ‘You just don’t understand. _ ’ Matty let out a sigh.

_ ‘You’re right. I don’t. You need to talk to me or you need to talk to him.’ _

Matty let out a groan, hating this all, but taking a moment to consider his options, and found himself considering George struggling to understand the mess that was going through his mind in relation to this all, and then Adam’s reaction to what had happened in December, and came to decide that of those two, he could much easily face George.

_ ‘Okay. I’ll talk to him.’ _ Matty placed his phone back into his pocket and unlocked the bathroom door.

Stepping into the living room, he turned the light on, watching George’s sleeping figure twitch slightly in response, but not enough to stir him from his sleep. Matty had to admit that there was not a part of him that wanted to do this, that wanted to go through with this, because George always knew the right thing to say to make him feel okay, and Matty always wanted to let him.

Yet all he feared was being pulled apart and giving everything up, and having everything out there, even in the hands of people he loved, because he was selfish, and he wanted to keep some secrets to himself. He wanted this to work out okay in the end, but only his kind of okay, and that came in a very specific form.

He stood by the sofa for a good few minutes, watching as George moved slightly as he slept. He looked peaceful, he looked happy, he looked like he’d be much better off without him, and of course he was, but he just didn't want to admit it yet, he didn’t want to tell Matty that he knew he’d been right all along - that he’d leave eventually, and the eventuality of that was persistently drawing closer, and how it’d always be as such.

He contemplated just letting what remained of the night slip by around him, letting the sun rise again, and letting the world fall around him and responsibility face up to itself in his place, but he knew that wasn’t a liable option in this all, because he’d made the fatal mistake of getting people to care about him, and now he was paying the price.

Matty was just stood there in the darkness for a good ten minutes until George’s phone on the coffee table began to vibrate loudly, startling both Matty and George: causing Matty to jump back onto the sofa, and George to jump up and reach for it, rubbing his eyes as he did so.

“What the fuck… Hann?” George muttered aloud as he held his phone in his hand, glancing momentarily at Matty curled up at the other end of the sofa before he answered it. “Sorry, it woke you up. Forgot to put it on do not disturb.”

Matty gave a vague nod in response, not feeling himself particularly inclined to correct George in his beliefs, and trusting that Adam would do so for him, because what was this? Some kind of check up call? He wasn’t a kid - he didn’t need checking up on. Of course, he had ended up neglecting to wake George up, as Adam had worried that he had, so perhaps there’d been logic behind it, but of course, Matty didn’t care for that.

“What’s going on?” George answered the call, sighing deeply as he leaned back into the sofa. “You fucking woke me up. It’s like… fucking four in the morning…”

“Matty…” He quite honestly wasn’t sure quite where to begin. “Matty, he… he was in a mess and we were texting and I told him to go to bed but he said he couldn’t so I told him to wake you up and talk to you instead. He didn’t want to but I eventually made him promise, I was just checking, and I guess he didn’t…”

“Why what happened? When was this?” George’s eyes widened, leaving Matty to only imagine the details of Adam’s side of the conversation.

“About fifteen minutes ago.” Adam explained, now at the point of just wanting to go to bed himself. “Where is he? Is he with you? Just talk to him, please. I’m sorry, but I felt like he was going to only end up doing some stupid if he was left alone with himself.”

“Yeah…” George glanced in Matty’s direction as he spoke: attempting to read the situation off of his body language alone, even in the low light of the room. “I understand, he’s sat next to me, it’s okay. I’ll talk to him, you get some sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, see you.” Adam hung up the call, leaving George to place his phone back onto the coffee table, and reach for the lamp beside them, illuminating the room with a gentle, warm, kind of comforting glow.

George ran a hand back through his hair and rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the light and the situation, before getting himself comfortable at one end of the sofa, finding himself facing Matty, who was still yet to do anything besides sit and bite his nails.

“I guess you know what that was about.” George finally opted for: his voice slow and soft, regarding Matty with care and an extra kind of caution that Matty really couldn’t help but dislike.

He gave a nod in response, pulling his eyes over George’s figure, and the way the light casted shadows over his face, and finding himself just  _ staring _ for a moment, because there was just this  _ thing _ about George, and that thing was that he was beautiful.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” George continued to ask, before letting a few moments of silence pass by between them. “I wouldn’t have minded. At all. I just want to be here for you, Matty, come on, I-”

“I didn’t want to.” Matty finally chose to speak, meeting George with wide, kind of hopeless, tired eyes. “I don’t want to talk about things, because it doesn’t even make sense to me, and what I can make sense of, I know you don’t want to hear it. I’m okay, really, he was just making a fuss.”

“Matty, you refused to leave your house for four months, I think it’s not absurd that he’d make a ‘fuss’ out of you being upset.” The words had left George’s mouth before he had time to think them over and consider their impact upon the man sitting so timidly before him.

“I fucking wonder why that was.” Matty gave a deep sigh: his tone anything but  _ angry _ , seeming more tired than anything else - fed up, depleted, with his eyes fixated upon the ground.

“I’m… sorry… I fucked up, you know-” George stammered out, shaking his head.

“We didn't talk about things, it’s fine, you didn’t think you were doing anything wrong when I thought you were. We just didn’t talk about things.” Matty brushed it off, his tone much slower and calmer than it usually was, which had George particularly concerned.

“Maybe we should. Talk about things properly, and start with why you woke up now and what exactly it was that happened.” George met him with a smile, “maybe we should be open about things.”

Matty bit his lip, considering just how to respond. “I’m scared.”

“Scared?” George raised an eyebrow, and found himself subconsciously moving closer to Matty.

“Scared.” Matty repeated, with a nod this time.

“Scared of what?” George asked, eyeing Matty as he sat there, fidgeting slightly.

“Most things.” Matty’s response was delayed, and a great deal quieter than usual. “I feel stupid, I feel embarrassed, you know? About December, because it was everything to me and nothing to you, and that’s why I don’t want to talk, because it’s awkward, it’s uncomfortable, it’s embarrassing, and I don’t want other people to know.”

“It wasn’t nothing to me.” George shook his head, looking horrified at the mere concept. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” Matty glanced up at him, watching as he moved closer again. “The truth?”

“It’s not the truth. You never knew how I felt, never let me talk to you, so I gave up eventually.” George gave out a sigh. “Regret that, of course, but… I… don’t know, I made a fucking mistake, Matty.”

Matty gave a nod in response and moved closer to George, resting his head against his side. The two sat there like that for a few minutes, as George found himself running back to December in his mind, and Matty was tossing and turning thousands of possible things to say in his head. 

It was eventually Matty who broke the silence, and he did so in the way that George had least expected, as it was the way in which he’d asked him to - the way that would make things easy, and the way that’d help the both of them. “I woke up after three. I’m not entirely sure what happened, I just started freaking out suddenly… I… was thinking about us, and how this is like… I’m scared of things going back to how they were because they fucked up like that. I’m so scared of things fucking up again. It has to be different this time, but I have no idea how. But I woke up, and I started panicking, I couldn’t be around you, I… I’m scared of letting you understand me again - I think I really don’t want to, but of course I do, I’m just terrified of the mere concept of it… and… I ran into the bathroom and I think I started crying at one point, I just kept thinking that I’d ruined everything again because it felt like December, I woke up and it felt like how we used to be and how that used to feel right, but now it fucking feels wrong, it made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry…” He trailed off, “fuck, I’m sorry, I guess I’m upsetting you, I-”

“ _ Matty _ .” George reached out and placed his hand tightly around Matty’s wrist. “You’re not upsetting me. I just need to understand. Carry on.”

“I saw that Adam had texted me after I looked at the time on my phone and I looked at the message because I didn’t think he’d be awake and then he was and then he made me talk to him, and he kept saying me to tell him why I reacted like I did to all of this, and I couldn’t tell him, and I…” His voice descended into mumbled whisper against George’s arm. “I don’t want them to  _ know _ … it’s just  _ us _ . It’s… our thing… I guess… was… I… I’m… I know I’m fucked up in the head, I just hate how everyone seems to think they can think it and understand how I feel.”

George gave a nod, leaning into Matty as he did so. “I’m sorry I make you feel like that. I just care about you. So  _ much _ . However you want to define it. I think it’s more complicated than that, if you know what I mean? And it’s okay, I’ll tell Adam and Ross to fuck off if you want, just don’t push me away,  _ please _ ? I don’t think I can handle that.”

Matty didn’t respond at first, and the two only sat in silence for the two minutes that followed.

“Why did you kiss her?” Was what it came down to, at five past four in the morning, what it had come down to all along.

“I was drunk and she was pretty, and I had this…  _ fuck _ … the thing was, I never told you, I never told anybody this, but… I was scared. I was scared, you know?” George met his gaze and found himself trailing off slightly.

“Scared of kissing her?” Matty didn’t seem to quite get the point George was making. Or perhaps didn’t want to - he wasn’t even sure himself as to which of the two it was.

“Scared of… how things would work out with us. I was scared it was going to fade away into nothingness, I was scared you’d get bored of me or something, and go off with someone else. I was scared that nothing would ever come of it, and I began to think that there really wasn’t anything there in the first place. Stupid, I know, but I just… I got insecure, for some fucking reason. And I’m not good at making decisions when I’m drunk, and I wanted to prove a point, I guess to myself that I was more than just…  _ your _ George… if that makes sense? And it’s not like you didn’t kiss some girl at that party too. I saw that, you know? It kind of fucked with me…”

“It was New Year, she was the person closest to me. You know, New Year’s peck on the lips for good luck and all that  _ bullshit _ , not New Year’s snog in the fucking toilet with the door unlocked, and she’s not even that fucking pretty. When it comes to picking girls to fuck off with for four months and make me hate you with, you could do prettier.”

“It was a mistake, look, we both… we both kissed girls at that party, and… I… it didn’t mean anything, come on.” George let out a sigh, wondering where they’d be now if Saffy had never managed to slip into the equation.

“If it was a mistake then why did you fuck off and date her for four months. That’s a third of a year, George, that’s a third of a fucking year-” Matty repeated, his voice growing louder as he grew confident in what he was saying, because suddenly there wasn’t such a great desire to lock it all up inside him anymore.

“To prove a point to myself. Again. Didn’t work out, though.” He let out a sigh, coming across as regretful, but finding that he was really only regretful in letting this  _ happen _ .

“What was the point?” Matty dared to ask, “that you wanted to ‘prove’?”

“That I didn’t have feelings for you, and that you didn’t mean the world…” George trailed off, biting his lip, “but of course, you do… and…”

“I can’t let this happen.” Matty shook his head, “it can’t work out like that, again, I can’t  _ lose _ you, George, I can’t-”

“Matty, look at me,” George pulled Matty in to face him, and found that he was practically sat on his lap at this point, but it was surprisingly the last thing on their minds. “You’re  _ not _ going to lose me, I promise you that. Fuck, why would you think that I’d let that happen, especially after all that has… I…”

“I just  _ know _ .” Matty choked out, shaking his head, but moving so that he was sat in George’s lap, now with his back to George’s. “I just know.”

“You can never be certain of anything.” George sighed, reaching for Matty’s hand. “Please, trust me. You can trust me, can’t you?”

Matty gave a shrug, pressing his head back into George’s chest. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“It is the morning.” George told him, “four in the morning.”

“The proper morning.” Matty mumbled, closing his eyes, “after proper breakfast… and proper things, like that.”

George nodded, letting Matty curl up against his chest. “Proper things like that.” He felt Matty’s face move to accommodate a smile as he spoke, and George just hated to think that Matty had picked up on the slight skip of his heart in his chest.

-

It was George that woke up first the second time around. This time being around nine in the morning, at which time the sun had already risen and lit their house with an oddly consoling glow.

He moved away from Matty as gently as he could, leaving him to sleep for a little while longer, as he at first sat on the other end of the sofa and simply checked through his phone, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw he didn’t have any new messages, because as much as he loved his friends and family, there were just certain days for certain things, and there was something that had already decided for him that this was a ‘Matty day’.

Matty continued to sleep as George showered for what was a good fifteen minutes, and then made his way into Matty’s room, which he knew was maybe something that Matty wouldn’t have been entirely okay with, but he’d just wanted to close the door properly really, but had then spotted Allen curled up on the bed, which gave him a perfect excuse to make his way inside.

Allen perked up at George made his way into the room, jumping off the bed to bark at his feet and be generally really adorable. George had to be a little offended at the fact that Matty had gone and gotten a puppy  _ without _ him; that had always seemed like such a  _ Matty And George _ thing… something they’d end up doing some day, well it had, before everything went wrong.

George ended up sitting on Matty’s bed with Allen for a moment, just thinking back, how things had been ages ago, not last year, but the year before that, before things had gotten complicated and they were  _ just _ friends, and there were no fucking feelings and caught up fears, and Matty didn’t want to stay cooped up inside his house and avoid the world. 

It had all changed,  _ everything _ , and there was just no cause or exact moment to pinpoint - it was just gradual, almost like it was natural, almost like it was something they could never prevent, because it was almost just something that was supposed to be. Except it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t, because things didn’t  _ work _ like that. They just didn’t.

George got up to leave the room five or so minutes later, Allen following him as he did so, and made it to the door, before the contents of Matty’s desk couldn’t help but catch his eye. He knew more than anything  _ not _ to look, because if there was anything Matty needed to keep private until he finally chose otherwise, it was his poetry, and still, despite that, George was tempted.

There was just the hope of some kind of fucking insight into what could possibly be happening in all of this from his point of view, but he knew that what he needed was for Matty to trust him again, and if he found out that he’d read his work without permission then there was very little hope of that ever again. He took a moment, and then a deep breath, before walking out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

-

By the time Matty awoke, George was making breakfast, having already fed Allen, and it was closing in on ten o’clock. Matty stumbled into the kitchen, seeming to have just woken up, judging from the disheveled, half asleep state he was in; George was far too invested in buttering a slice of toast to really notice Matty until the shorter man was at his side.

“Hey…” George looked up, turning to him and taking in the still half asleep nature of his appearance. “Sleep alright?”

Matty gave a nod, before leaning into George’s side, and pulling his free arm over his shoulders: a gesture which surprised George, but one that he was not at all opposed to in the slightest.

“Is this alright for breakfast?” George took a moment to really  _ think _ straight after the very sudden change in Matty’s attitude towards him within the space of a few hours.

“Yeah…” Matty offered him a smile, his tone rather quiet and muffled slightly, and was the last hint of conversation until the two were sat properly at the table… with  _ cutlery _ and everything.

Matty leaned back in his chair, looking down at the spoon George had given him in confusion. It took a moment, but in the end, he let out something that really did resemble a proper laugh, catching George entirely by surprise as he did so. “What the fuck do I need a spoon for when I’m eating toast?” He held it up, thrusting it across at George, who had sat across from him.

George took it from him with a smile, before giving a shrug. “It’s proper breakfast, you need proper cutlery and everything, don’t you?” He placed the spoon down between them, before taking a sip of his drink, and biding by the time as Matty sat there looking a bit bewildered, any hopes of response seeming to fade away in the air around them as moments went past.

It was a good minute or so before Matty did speak, but when it finally came to it, he did so with an unexpected kind of confidence, and his lips curling up into an awkward kind of grin as he met George’s gaze. “I say a lot of shit at four in the morning, you know that? Don’t have to take it seriously.”

“Oh…?” George raised his eyebrows at that one, attempting to extract the entire world simply from the way Matty was looking at him, but of course failing when it came to such endeavours.

“What?” Matty regarded him with confusion, stopping eating entirely in the light of his response.

“I don’t know…” George trailed off, rubbing at his eyes before continuing. “Are you talking about just the breakfast or you know… writing off everything else you said?”

Matty let out a sigh, looking George directly in the eyes, “I don’t know. I need to think about things, really.”

“You yourself have said that thinking about things excessively doesn’t really get you into the best state.” George found the words leaving his lips before he could think things through, and that they did so with an unpleasantly snappy tone to them.

“That’s  _ excessively _ . I know the difference.” He gave a shrug, “come on, don’t look at me like I’m a fucking  _ kid _ or some shit.”

“Don’t look at me like I don’t know you, Matty.” George shook his head, “you seem so… fucking  _ split _ when it comes to me, like there’s the Matty that pulls my arm over his shoulders for no reason, and wants to fall asleep on the sofa with me, in my lap, and then there’s this Matty that talks to me like he just wants me to fuck off, and says he can’t trust me at all. I mean, what  _ is _ it?”

Matty finished his toast, and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know, George, I don’t know, I’m a mess, that I fucking know, and I’m sorry, and you have no obligation to stick around-”

“I  _ am _ sticking around.” George shook his head, “fuck, I’m sorry, I know you’re… you’re…”

“A bit fucked in the head?” Matty offered when George failed to come up with something.

George shrugged, “don’t say it like that.”

“That’s how it is, though.” Matty trailed off, watching as Allen appeared at the doorway from the living room. “Did you feed him already?” He glanced across at George in confusion.

“Yeah, when I got up.” George gave a nod.

“I never asked you to feed him…” Matty trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“Sorry?” George was rather uncertain as to exactly  _ what _ Matty had meant by that.

“No it’s…”

“He’s  _ your _ dog, I know, not  _ ours _ … I didn’t know that would-”

“George, shut up.” Matty looked up at him, shaking his head. “Thank you.” His tone softened, “I just didn’t expect you’d do that. I don’t know…” Matty got up and made his way over to Allen. “Need to take him for a walk as well. Might as well get it out of the way, in case it starts raining later, I mean, it could… I just…”

“I’ll come with you.” George offered, getting up from the table and putting their plates into the sink to wash up later.

“It’s… it’s…  _ fine _ .” Matty stumbled over his words, and focused his attention on petting Allen instead.

“Matty.” George let out a sigh, “I  _ know _ you don’t like going out on your own. And here I am,  _ wanting _ to walk your dog with you, because I like dogs, and I like… walking… them? And I like… you…”

Matty stood up, a smile slipping over his face, “you’re an idiot, you know that, right?”

“Shut up.” George rolled his eyes, before letting his gaze fall to the ground, attempting to hide his blush in all of this, but in the process of doing so, failed to notice how Matty made his way over to him, until his hand was on George’s cheek, pushing his head up to look at him.

“George…” He trailed off, realising his hand was still on his cheek, and pulled it away frantically as his cheeks began to turn red. “I…  _ thank you _ . I do trust you, you know? Course I do. It’s just me… it’s myself I don’t trust, especially with you.”

That kind of confession stunned George into a dark,  _ cold _ kind of silence, that demanded a forceful reply that  _ meant _ something, and not the sting of overwhelming silence as he found himself stuck watching as Matty walked off to shower.

-

It ended up raining anyway. Matty looked ridiculously cute with his hood up, though, so George didn’t really mind at all, even despite the bitter kind of cold wind that came with it: a pathetic excuse for spring, all around, as they two were quite the pathetic example of fixing a relationship.

George found himself thinking about how odd they looked amidst the park full of mothers with children and people who looked like they generally had their life together better than one giant of a man and one who looked tiny in comparison, dressed largely in black as they walked an even tinier puppy. And as if Matty had decided that they’d hadn’t already soiled people’s expectations of them enough, he stopped for a moment to light a cigarette.

George smiled at him, taking Allen’s lead from him as he struggled to light the cigarette one handed. He tried not to think about the way their fingers had brushed one another so gently for the next few hours or so, but he wasn’t sure that he was really in the position to be making promises.

“Thanks.” Matty muttered, then finding himself struggling to get it to light in the rain.

“Here.” George leaned closer to him and shielded the lighter with his free hand, blocking in from the rain for long enough to get it to light.

“Thanks.” Matty repeated, in much the same tone as he had the last time, except wearing a much larger grin this time around.

“What?” George blushed as Matty’s grin seemed somewhat persistent in the matter of not fading.

“Seems like those giant hands of yours are useful for something after all.” Matty burst into laughter at his own joke, leaving George to roll his eyes as he did all he could to suppress his laughter, but of course, failed in the process. 

“Shut up.” George shook his head, before a smirk began to creep onto his face “anyway, you know what they say about people with massive  _ hands _ …”

“That’s big feet, George.” Matty shook his head in disbelief as they continued to walk through the park.

“Are you saying that I don’t have massive feet  _ too _ ?” He even considered putting the effort into appearing offended at the notion.

“No, I’m just saying that maybe it doesn’t relate to the size of your dick, at all.” Matty ended up being rather blunt about it all.

“Who said we were talking about my dick in the first place?” George offered him a grin.

“Oh fuck off, I know what you were saying-”

“You know what they say, Matty, big hands… big… lungs…?” He ended up stumbling for something to say, which really detracted from any original point he may have had.

Matty just looked up at him, completely in disbelief, “what the fuck are you on about?”

“My massive hands, come on, Matty, mate, you brought it up.” George continued as if there’d never be absolutely any other connotations to their conversation.

Matty only let out what was undeniably a  _ giggle _ . “Brought it up.”

George groaned, shaking his head in disbelief, “are you literally twelve years old?” Before he could wait for Matty’s reply, he found his phone vibrating in his pocket, displaying a new message from Ross in the group chat that had been made yesterday.

_ ‘How is he doing? What happened last night?’ _

George found himself groaning aloud at even the concept of returning to thinking about early that day, because by now, he’d gotten himself into a nice comfortable position with Matty, well not physically, but he didn’t doubt that Matty would let him - they were talking, smiling, joking, as if there had been little between them at all, and George found himself not entirely convinced that just  _ mentioning _ how it had been earlier that day wouldn’t jinx their situation or whatever.

_ ‘This morning.’ _ Adam corrected him as George continued to stare at his phone screen.

“What is it?” Matty asked, glancing up in George’s direction: voice all bewildered and innocent, oddly quiet, as if he was crawling back inside his shell again. 

George shook his head, not entirely sure what to say, and more than tempted just to leave it, and tell Matty it was nothing, regardless of whether he’d believe it or not, but the thing was that they knew he’d seen those messages, and as had been proven so far, both Adam and Ross were very persistent when it came to making sure Matty was okay. George couldn’t blame them; it wasn’t like they meant any harm by it, they just wanted to be sure.

“Ross.” George chose to answer Matty first, glancing up from his phone and meeting his eyes. “Asking about you.” He continued, noting the nervous look in his eyes.

Matty gave a nod, his eyes drifting off, and letting out a muffled, “mhm…” He then proceeded to make his way to a bench just a few metres down the path from them.

George glanced back down at his phone, seeing that Ross had sent his previous message again, just now with a somewhat aggressive number of question marks. Still, he followed Matty to the bench, sitting down beside him, before he even considered replying.

“What’s he saying?” Matty’s curiosity got the better of him within seconds, he, however, didn’t keep his gaze fixated upon George’s long enough to wait for the reply, and instead leant down and let Allen off his lead. “Be good.” He whispered, words directed at Allen as he ran his fingers through his fur as the puppy began to sniff around at their feet.

George couldn’t help but smile at Matty and Allen; he could tell that Allen made Matty happier than anything else and he was just so very thankful for him, for the both of them.

“George?” Matty waved his hand at him, leaving him to blush in realisation that he’d been staring.

“Fuck, sorry…” He shook his head, pulling his phone back out of his pocket, this time to see six new messages - five from Ross, and one from Adam. “Jesus.” He commented aloud, causing Matty to raise an eyebrow from where he was sat, but he didn’t inquire as to what had led him to such an exclamation, and instead only brought his cigarette up to his lips, and let his gaze fall over the horizon, and wonder just how quickly such brilliant blue skies had turned so  _ grey _ . At least the rain looked as if it was beginning to clear now.

Before George could even attempt to type out any form of reply, Ross had sent another message:  _ ‘I know you’re reading this. What’s happened, for fuck’s sake???’ _

He decided that at this point it was better to text Ross back, just to let him know that neither of them had died or gotten injured in the space of the past few hours, before explaining the situation to Matty. 

_ ‘Nothing’s happened, mate. We’re fine, we’re out walking Allen.’ _

With that, George locked his phone and placed it down onto his lap, before directing his gaze to Matty, who looked up at the sky as if he was finding himself up there.

Matty had a kind of vacant look in his eyes as they scanned across the horizon, head fixating upon counting the variations in colour and every single shade of grey up there, watching the way the sun looked out from behind clouds: cautious, and almost uncertain in its motion - retreating at any moment without warning or reason.

“I guess Adam told him about what happened this morning, and then he’s worrying, and I didn’t reply to his first message instantly so he assumed the worst and sent seven more.” George let out a sigh, turning his phone over in his hands as he spoke, but not quite daring to actually look at what response his message had prompted.

“You have a Matty’s mental instability discussion and advice group chat or some shit?” Matty finally tore his eyes away from the skyline, glancing at Allen who was sat just a few metres away from them.

George let out a sigh, because that was the thing, they kind of  _ did _ , and he really didn’t want Matty to take that too badly, but still, he didn’t want to lie to him. “Well…” He began, and Matty shot him a ‘you’re kidding me’ kind of look. “ _ Ross _ made a group for me, him, and Hann… and in it… you are discussed somewhat-”

“Oh fuck  _ off _ , let me see it.” Matty shook his head in disbelief. “What a load of bollocks, honestly.” He took a drag of his cigarette, before glancing towards George expectantly. “Let me  _ see _ it.”

“Uhh…” George, understandably, wasn’t sure that was the best of ideas. He glanced down at his phone, and read the messages that had been sent in response.

_ ‘Something obviously happened. You have to be honest with us.’ _

_ ‘We’re just concerned.’ _

_ ‘George, you can’t just ignore this.’ _

_ ‘Maybe he’s just put his phone down.’ _

_ ‘Or maybe something’s happened.’ _

_ ‘In the space of two minutes?’ _

_ ‘I still have a right to be concerned, I mean, you know what Matty’s like.’ _

George swallowed  _ hard _ \- ‘what Matty’s like’. The idea of Matty seeing this just didn’t sit right within him, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that, and wasn’t entirely sure how this whole thing had gotten into  _ sides,  _ because it was never like that, and it never should have been. It was just Matty, needing some help, but what Matty didn’t need was this mess.

“I don’t know if you  _ do _ want to look at this.” George bit his lip, so cautious of phrasing something wrong and fucking things up somehow - not that it was really his fault, or Matty’s either, it was just the way that he thought, and how he jumped to conclusions within seconds. “They don’t… I don’t know… I feel like they have this wrong idea of you, like you’re incapable of looking after yourself for two seconds.”

Matty snorted, finishing his cigarette and putting it out with the heel of his shoe. “Honestly, they’re about right.” He muttered, not really  _ to _ George, just aloud, not really not anyone. He used the moment of silence it had left them in to catch George by surprise and take his phone from his hands. It was perhaps something he shouldn’t have done, but he just  _ needed _ to know.

“Matty-” George protested, reaching for his phone, but found Matty shuffling away from him, and rendering himself out of reach.

“What am I like?” Matty’s voice was shaking slightly: seemingly more upset than angry, which had surprised George. He glanced up at him. “George, what am I like?”

George shook his head in response, “you’re not… like… anything… you know what I mean.”

Matty didn’t seem too bothered by his response at all, and was instead far more concerned with another message sent from Ross.  _ ‘George, you can’t keep ignoring this.’ _

“This is bullshit.” Matty bit his lip, scrolling up through the previous messages. “I’m fine, sort of… I don’t know…” He turned to George, who was carefully moving closer to Matty again. “I’m alright, aren’t I, George?”

“I-” George began to respond, but Matty cut him off, which was something that he found himself thankful for as George wasn’t at all sure as to what he was actually going to say.

“Fuck.” Matty thrust the phone back at George. “I’m… I’m alright when I’m not on my own. Everyone was right, weren’t they?”

“Matty, that’s not a  _ bad _ thing, we all  _ need _ friends-” George began to attempt to calm him down, but Matty didn’t let him finish again.

“It’s different.” He shook his head, seemingly at himself. “I need  _ someone _ . Like… that…”

“Like what?” George leaned in closer to him, phone halfway to his pocket, until it began to vibrate in his grip, and as he turned it over, display an incoming call from Ross. “Fuck.” He muttered aloud, just staring at it, and wondering if he could make it all go away, because he really  _ needed _ to hear the end of that sentence from Matty.

However, as George continued to stare at his phone with no apparent desire to react at all, Matty made a stupid decision, as he did best, and pulled it from George’s grip again: accepting the call and putting the phone to his ear, all as George sat wide eyed, not entirely sure  _ what _ to do. As there was perhaps this part of him that wanted Matty to talk to Ross honestly, this part of him that believed it would do some good. George just couldn’t help feel that reality was inclined to dictate otherwise.

“George, what’s going on-” Ross sounded rather fed up with the whole situation, and honestly Matty could relate, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to just let it slip away.

“What am I like?” He snapped, catching both George and Ross by surprise. “Ross, what  _ exactly _ am I like?”

“Matty, what’s- where’s George?” Ross considered the possibility of Matty murdering George and reading through his messages, but deemed it impossible on the basis that George was about four times the size of Matty.

“He’s sat right next to me.” Matty gestured at George as he spoke, who found himself only able to watch as Matty potentially ruined his friendship with Ross. “What am I like? Come on, fucking  _ tell _ me-”

“You’re like someone who’d hide away for four months because their friend kissed a girl at a party without asking their permission first or some bullshit. Irrational. You don’t make  _ sense _ , you just  _ do _ things.” Ross had been left to assume the rest of the situation from what he didn’t know, and it left Matty sitting there and just shaking his head.

“That’s not what I’m like. That’s not what happened. You don’t know shit.” Matty took the phone away from his ear, ready to press the ‘end call’ button, before George took it back from, putting the phone to his ear, and getting up so Matty couldn’t grab it back.

“Sorry-” He began, but it was apparent that this wasn’t just a ‘sorry’ kind of situation.

“What the  _ fuck _ happened? You just let him read everything in that group or what? You know why that’d fuck with him, and now he’s in a  _ state _ -”

“Don’t blame this on me.” George raised his voice, but came to regret it instantly, “fuck, Ross, I’m sorry, this is stupid, we’re not against each other… we need to calm down. He took my phone, and honestly he’s not… he’s not as much of a mess as you think he is. He’s still just  _ Matty _ , you know that, right?”

“Yeah…” Ross let out a sigh, seeming to regret the state things had gotten to just as much. “I just… We need to know what happened, that’s what’s creating this tension between us, it feels like we’re separated in this, and that’s just. Me and Adam should come over, we should just talk about all of this, face to face.”

“Yeah…” George glanced across at Matty, who was putting Allen back on his lead. “Me and Matty… haven’t really talked about it yet. I think… I think we really need to. I think we’re getting there, though.”

“Talk to him tonight. It doesn’t make sense to me at all, so it’s either something really stupidly insignificant or something so weird I haven’t even considered-”

“It’s not insignificant or weird.” George shook his head, “it’s… look, you’re right, I guess we do need to talk about things. Properly.”

“So you’ll talk to him?”

“Soon. I promise.” George let out a sigh. “Talk to you later, okay?” He hung up before Ross could reply, slipping his phone into his pocket and catching up with Matty and Allen.

“So he hates me?” Matty came to conclude, running a hand back through his hair.

“No, he doesn’t.” George made a point of being stern in his tone. “They’re just confused about all of this, you know, and it’s making shit… I get where they’re coming from. He wants to know what happened at New Year.”

“And… we’re…” Matty’s voice caught in his throat: eyes growing wide.

“We need to talk about it properly ourselves first.” George didn’t dare look at Matty as he spoke. “I honestly think it’d do you good.”

“I don’t know what I  _ think _ … I mean… I need to think about it more-”

“Matty, that’s the last thing you need to do. You’re overthinking. You need to  _ talk _ about things.” George knew that it absolutely wasn’t as easy as he was making it sound, but he did have a point in it.

“Talk about my feelings regarding you… to  _ you _ ?” Matty raised his eyebrows, and George’s stomach did about seven backflips at the word ‘feelings’.

“Yeah… I… I mean you could talk to Ross and Adam first I-”

“No… fuck… I don’t want to tell fucking other people how I fucked my entire life up just because I have a crush on you and you went and kissed some girl and then  _ dated _ her for four months. I just sound like an idiot. It’s stupid, they’re stupid feelings, I’m sorry, I-”

“They’re not stupid.” George told him, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, and they’re not going to think so either. If they do, I’ll… I’ll punch them, I swear.”

Matty gave a laugh at that. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” George reassured him with a smile, and they spent the rest of the journey home in silence, beside the odd small talk, and comment pointing out the state of someone’s garden, because that was apparently something Matty did. 

Yet, in all that silence, in all that time to think, it had never hit George that when Matty had spoken about a crush on him, he’d very definitely used present tense.

-


	5. shit gets pretty gay

It had been a quiet day: calm, peaceful perhaps, but the silence lay not in reflection of that, but because neither of the two had quite gotten down to  _ talking _ about it yet, and they both shared the notion that if they started talking then they would soon have to come across it, because that was what was really on their minds, not menial bullshit about the weather and what kind of cereal they had in.

Matty wasn’t sure that the basis of getting things sort out to tell everyone else was really the best basis to make a stupid, likely life changing decision, because he knew now from experience that things all went wrong when he was open and honest about his feelings.

And perhaps he could insist that they kept it secret for a while longer, because in all honesty, Matty was scared, scared in ways he could barely even begin to comprehend for himself, but the thing was that there was indeed a melancholic kind of beauty in fear, and in putting things off, in avoidance and silence, and the silence was interrupted solely by the tapping of Matty’s fingers against the keys on his typewriter.

He’d found himself so very desperate to wrap himself up and hide away inside his own writing, regardless of the very obvious flaws he found within it, because there was such a comfort in writing, there was control, you had the power, you put the words down as you wished, and spun them to portray what you wished; you held the powers of perspective and impression, and Matty felt somewhat stumped without that.

He wanted to write this out, wanted to plan their fucking conversation, wanted to idealise the outcome in unnecessary eloquence and comparisons that held no real meaning, he wanted to paint it out like a clear blue sky: easily depicted but much rarer when it came to reality. However, as he thought about it, Matty came to realise that all he had done for the past few days was write about George, and even as he looked over his old works from months prior, he found such obvious little pieces of George in them that had somehow managed to pass him by before.

As the day dragged by and the skies grew darker, and he leaned further back in his chair, and the half finished cup of coffee on the edge of his desk grew cold, he came to conclude that in reality, George already knew the most of it, and what he feared most within it all was speaking it all aloud, because there was something just about  _ saying _ it that made it feel so real, and he wasn’t at all sure that he was ready for that kind of commitment yet, and he wasn’t ready to face Ross and Adam, and wonder what they could think of him, twenty six, and fucking himself up over a crush.

Of course, they wouldn’t dare  _ say _ anything, because Ross, especially, was far too concerned with Matty’s mental health for anyone’s good, but perhaps, Matty was just far too disinterested in his own mental health, perhaps he’d crossed the line where brushing things off just didn’t cut it anymore, but the thing was that Matty would forever be hesitant to ever admit anything of the such aloud unless someone got up and physically drew the line out for him.

Because words meant so much and yet so little in the reality of things. Words and conversation served their worth and purpose in matters of fantasy and art, in typewriters and sunrise, but not in uncomfortable glances shared by the oldest and most familiar of friends, and the heavy bearing weight of a sunset that came all too quickly.

Matty had figured by now that he simply couldn’t work in spontaneous confessions and gathering himself all together, but as he looked over his work from the past few months, from before this had all happened even, he found that George and his feelings regarding him lay so very prominent throughout it all, and it would be perhaps easier just to share it with him, share the kind of feelings that he had on those days: real and expressed quickly, and not stored away and recalled from the back of his mind as he sat across with shaking hands.

But that was the thing, Matty just  _ didn’t _ let people read his poetry. He didn’t let people in, because when it came to his work, it was honest beyond belief; it was phrased artistically, and it was caricaturistic in places, and in others fixated more so on romanticised descriptions of menial tasks than anything substantial, but it was honest, and it was a part of his honest self that he kept locked away.

And in all honesty, he wasn’t sure that he could share anything again.

It had been different before; so long ago now he’d been confident and excited, and loud, and the kind of person who everyone said hello to at parties, the kind of person that even fucking went to parties, who overshared, and over expressed, and just wanted to be heard, wanted a response and wanted to provoke emotion in others.

It had been George. Not George directly, never George directly, but just… December, and how he’d developed these very  _ different _ kind of feelings that suddenly felt so important and so raw that he couldn’t throw them out at everyone that walked past, because this was suddenly something so personal and so private, and in all honesty, something that had scared him at first, and perhaps scared him even now. Just in a different way.

Matty stopped for a moment, just daring to wonder if the solution did indeed lie directly within the problem itself. He dared to wonder if this was how to get himself back; the self that he’d once known, that he wanted people to know him as, because in all honesty, Matty missed that version of himself. He didn’t want to be a recluse, he didn’t want to be on the verge of a mental breakdown in Tesco, and he didn’t want to be scared of looking his best friend in the eye.

It wasn’t the solution, but it was certainly the start of it. That quickly became something that he was very certain of, because it was within revisiting his older works, and finding the light and life, and  _ happiness _ within the lines that made him sick to his stomach for what he’d let become himself, because he wanted to go back; he wanted to go back and live that life again, do things over properly this time, and perhaps a second attempt was just the next best thing.

He sat at his desk just looking over his poetry, deciding which were significant, which would mean anything, which could help him at all, but in time found that they were  _ all _ significant, and everything mattered, if not so much alone, but in unison, this was perhaps all he had left of himself, and it was  _ that _ which really scared him.

Finally, he turned to the few lines constructing his current piece: paper still held in his typewriter:

_ ‘I’m scared not of us, not of who we’ve been, not of the mistakes we’ve made, but who we could be, and how that feels so out of reach, with lack of answer or solution, and how we’re just worlds away this time around.’ _

And even supposedly unfinished, it suddenly felt like more than enough.

He paused for a moment when it came to titling the piece, because it was just those few words that seemed to hold so much, and perhaps in comparison, the title didn’t need to be nearly as complicated, perhaps all the title needed to be was simple, and honest, because what really was it about? That was a question he could answer in seconds.

_ ‘George’ _ .

-

He was making a point of ignoring any messages sent to him by Adam and Ross, because it was getting to the point where their patience was drawing uncomfortably thin, despite them being the ones who were insistent that everyone should be extra careful around Matty regarding his mental health. George seemed to think that forcing him to talk about something he was uncomfortable with wasn’t going to help things at all, but George wasn’t at all sure as to how much of this was Matty being uncomfortable or just him being reluctant.

Because he didn’t want to be reluctant, he was pretty sure that he was fine with it all, but the more he thought about it, the more he came to conclude that he was in much the same boat as Matty, which really wasn’t good for either of them, because Matty needed dragging out of that boat and back to shore, and George was simply no help to him in that.

He spent the day trying not to think about it, and not  _ avoiding _ Matty, but sitting in the living room, with the TV on in the background, only half thinking about how he had work tomorrow, and how that seemed to mean so little all of a sudden. The only thing with it was that he just didn’t want to leave Matty alone, and he doubted that Matty would want to spend time with other people, but he didn’t doubt that Ross would come over anyway.

He’d spent the day taking pictures of random shit for Instagram, kind of an indirect attempt to assure Ross and Adam that neither of them had died, but they just weren’t replying yet, which perhaps wasn’t the best light to frame himself in, but they’d come around to understand eventually, because as weird as the notion felt, George knew that things wouldn’t be like this forever.

It was eight thirty six by the time Matty left his room, body shaking as he made his way into the living room, noticing George curled up on the sofa and swallowing hard. George was yet to notice him, or at least let him know that he had, and Matty just didn’t want to think about that too much at all, instead just trying to compose himself a little more as he sat down on the sofa beside George.

He caught George off guard: having preoccupied himself with his phone, and organising all of his apps by colour, because that was definitely something that he needed to do. And at first, George only vaguely noticed Matty at all, just the slight dip in the sofa beside him, and his hair out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you… even watching that?” Matty’s voice shook as he gestured awkwardly at the TV. It was at that moment that George found no further excuse to hide himself away, and put his phone down, looking up and following Matty’s gaze to the TV, which was something that he’d forgotten was even on by that point.

“No.” He shook his head, reaching for the remote and turning it off for Matty. “I mean… if you want it on, that’s  _ fine _ , I-”

“No.” Matty interrupted him, letting out a sigh and leaning back against the sofa, “it’s better off.” He then reached out and placed the folder of his poetry on the coffee table: something George hadn’t noticed before, and once he had, spent a good minute or so just  _ staring _ at in an attempt to figure out exactly what it was. 

“I’m not good at…  _ talking _ , you know?” Matty began to fill the silence again after a minute or so, over gesturing with his hand, pulling at his clothes, and was generally unable to keep still. “And I… I feel like I don’t really know what I was feeling at all anymore, like it’s all a mess in my head and that doesn’t translate into English anymore. But I write things down, it’s like, I read over these and I… it felt weird, because I’ve such this massive part of myself and I only recognise it now, and I don’t want to push people away, and I don’t want to be scared, because this was what started it, it was my feelings for you that made me think I had to keep things locked away, and I’m not letting myself think that anymore.” He turned to George, catching his gaze, “I want you to read them.”

George’s eyes widened: looking between Matty and the folder on the coffee table. “Is that? Are those your poems?” He held the words so tentatively between his lips, because despite everything Matty was saying, he still couldn’t quite get himself to believe that Matty would ever come to this, and he had accepted that there were perhaps just things that he’d never know about him.

“Yeah.” Matty bit at his fingernail. “All of them.” He added, stretching out across the sofa, “since like November. I’ll explain them if you need me to but I want you to read them.”

George nodded, suddenly overcome with a wave of anxiety, because this was it - this was  _ everything _ , this was everything Matty had kept away from everyone, and he wasn’t sure what exactly had lead him to trust him with it, and as much as he disagreed that he was worth such trust, he certainly wasn’t in the position to question it.

The first one was entitled ‘Something In My Heart’, and was dated with the twenty fourth of November - a date Matty and George had spent together at a party, hosted by someone that Ross’ girlfriend sort of half knew.

-

_ ‘There’s something in my heart. _

_ Something that feels wrong. _

_ Something in the way we are. _

_ Something in who we’ve become.’ _

Matty had been feeling off that night, perhaps more so down to the excessive amount of alcohol he’d consumed, because she’d had a lot of fancy wine, and it was his main weakness in life, and then there’d been a point where he bet George that he could drink more than him, which seemed fine at face value, but Matty had neglected to remember than George was about four times his size.

He’d found himself sat down in the living room, and he’d noted how the girl had a pretty nice house, even with the mess covering it; it was kind of spacious, perhaps excessively so, but it lacked a feeling of emptiness, although Matty was sure that was down to the sheer amount of people in it. 

It was a big party, one where Matty didn’t know the majority of the people there, and Matty hadn’t been to one like it in a while, which was likely what had him feeling out of place, or at least that was what he had pinned it down to in the moment.

He wasn’t at all sure if he was okay or needed to go home or anything, because he didn’t feel  _ sick _ , not really, he just felt oddly trapped within his own head, in a room full of crowded people, lost within the space spanning no more than three metres around him. And that was perhaps something worth worrying about, but he was drunk, quite a bit drunker than he usually got, and alone, having needed to sit down for a moment.

He hadn’t felt at ease until George reappeared in the doorway: spotting Matty instantly, eyes scanning across the room as if he’d been searching for him, and he had, but Matty had never assumed as such. George always knew what to do with Matty, or at least he had.

Matty let George pull him up from where he was sat, take the wine glass for him and place it on the windowsill for someone else to deal with, and guide him out of the house with his arm around his shoulders. There’d be instant comfort and relief with the simple matter of touch, because George felt warm and  _ safe _ , like home, something that meant the world, and meant as such in ways he couldn’t quite explain. It was something deep within him: upturned and slightly out of place.

They ended up sat outside in the garden, and Matty had again noted that this girl, this vague friend of Ross’ girlfriend had a real nice garden, with pretty flowers - properly weeded and everything. She’d probably be pretty angry if he puked on them; Matty hoped that wasn’t going to be issue, but the thing was that he wasn’t so much  _ physically _ sick, just out of sorts in another way: cold and churned up inside.

George was in no hurry to ask for Matty to explain the world to him, and for what was a good twenty minutes, the two sat in silence underneath the stars, which would have been nice if it wasn’t November, and in turn, fucking cold, but it was better than being in there. Suddenly Matty felt  _ okay _ again, and he just wasn’t sure as to whether it was the fresh air or something else, something like…  _ someone _ like George.

Matty had ended up moving closer to George to stay warm, and he’d silently complied as Matty attempted to move his legs apart and slot himself between them: back against George’s chest, and George’s arms twisting around his sides and into Matty’s lap. There was just something  _ natural _ within it all - it was just them,  _ Matty And George _ .

“I feel weird.” Matty was the first to speak, and only came to do so in a tone that resembled little more than a whisper. “Like…” He paused as he searched for the right words, kicking at dirt with his shoes as he did so: George finding no need to hurry him. “It’s not like I’m sick, because I’ve drunk a bit much, I mean, I  _ have _ , but that’s not it… I don’t think?”

“You’ve not drank that much.” George assured him, and Matty couldn’t be sure that George even knew how much he’d drank, or if he did, how he could have possibly been monitoring it, but he found that he trusted him too much to do anything besides take his word as gospel. “Bit more than usual. We all have I mean, there’s a lot  _ to  _ drink.”

Matty nodded: head rubbing slightly against George’s chest. “Big party.” He mumbled, picking at his fingernails, hands in his lap.

“Mmm…” George pulled his arms closer around Matty. “What is it then?” He prompted for him to continue.

“I don’t know…” Matty mumbled, brushing his hair out of his face, “something like,  _ emotional _ , inside, but it feels physical somehow, but it’s not a  _ physical _ thing it’s just… I don’t know. I feel kind of better now, but it’s still there. Feels  _ real _ , like overwhelming like real, like more  _ real _ and physical than a feeling should.”

George nodded, reaching one hand around Matty’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you don’t want to be here we can go home. I’ll get a taxi-”

“No.” Matty shook his head, finding that he was entirely sure of what he wanted to do, but the one thing he did know was that he didn’t want to move right that moment, because there was just something about George that was so incessantly  _ calming _ , and it was just something that Matty couldn’t quite dare to comprehend. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” George gave a nod, leaning forward to rest his chin onto the top of Matty’s head. 

“Fuck off.” Matty muttered,  _ grinning _ . “Stop being  _ tall _ .”

George pulled away, smile mirroring Matty’s. “Stop being tiny.”

“I’m not!” Matty’s eyes widened, turning back to face George. “I may be small, but I’m not  _ tiny _ !”

“Whatever you say.” George assured him. “ _ Whatever _ you say.”

Matty found his heartbeat increasing slightly, and his whole body tingling all over as a result. “Feels like it’s in my heart.” He added, not at all sure whether he’d intended it to be aloud, but in hindsight, it didn’t matter that much at all.

“Mhmm?” George raised his eyebrows. “The thing?”

“Yeah.” Matty gave a nod, taking a moment to just assess himself before expanding on his point. “In my chest at least, like  _ part _ of me, properly.”

“What does it feel like?” George found himself wondering, “like, what  _ kind _ of feeling is it? Happy? Sad? Good? Bad?”

“It’s not…” Matty paused for a moment, stumped for a moment. “It’s just  _ not _ , I mean… it’s not good or bad, it’s like  _ something _ more than the concept of good and bad entirely, if that makes sense.” George pretended he did, for the sake of making Matty feel a little less lost with himself. “It’s separate from all of that… it’s just… I feel  _ weird _ . Something’s off, something’s wrong. But not necessarily wrong in a bad way.”

“Mmm.” George gave a nod, finding Matty looking up at him expectantly, somehow wishing to find all the answers in him, although the both of them were just so very well unaware of the unrealistic nature of that.

“Can you even have the good kind of wrong?” Matty began to pick the edges of the rips in his jeans, leaving the question open for George to answer.

“I guess you can. I mean, you could think that your family were going to die in a fire in a day’s time, and then they didn’t, so you’d be wrong, but that would be good that they didn’t die.” 

Matty only gave a shrug in response. “I guess.” He stretched his legs out, looking up at the sky, noting how it had grown cloudier than it had been when they first went outside. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, come on, I’ll get us a taxi.” He got to his feet, reaching for Matty’s hand as he pulled him up, and it was like that, as their hands brushed that the very same tingling sensation shot through Matty’s veins once more. But in that moment he found himself far more preoccupied with getting out some girl’s garden and home, into his bed; he could deal with it in the morning, but of course, he never did.

_ ‘Something stronger in my heart. _

_ Growing with every word from my tongue. _

_ Fed by intoxication, a parasite, a fever. _

_ But it feels just like turning the light on.’ _

-

“Feels just like turning the light on?” George pointed to the last line of the poem, eyes fixated on Matty, who had briefly explained that the poem was in reference to that party, and how he’d taken him outside when he’d been feeling off. 

Matty gave a gentle nod, shifting closer to George on the sofa, and taking a moment just to read over his own work. “Yeah, it’s like… the feeling, I had this sort of innate feeling that it was something weird, not  _ bad _ , but left me feeling the bad kind of weird in the end, more uncomfortable with the part of myself I couldn’t quite understand more than anything else. But then that’s… it feels like, when you come home at the end of the day, and it’s winter, it’s dark and cold, and you get inside and turn the light on and suddenly you’re  _ home _ , and everything evens out to be that little bit more okay again.”

“And…” George trailed off, toying with the idea of exactly what it  _ was _ that Matty was referencing. Of course, he  _ knew _ what it was, but there was a line he was drawing in regards to admitting it unless Matty was the one to confirm it. “The feeling?”

“I might have been a bit too drunk really, I don’t know, but it was to do with you, to do with how you made that something into something else, I felt better as soon as I was with you. I think that was the first time I really  _ felt _ something for you, or at least the first time it got to a point of vague coherency, I mean, of course, then I mostly had no idea.” Matty found difficulty in looking George in the eye as he spoke. 

There was a silence that followed, and Matty was the one to break it once again within thirty seconds or so. “It was quite a while ago now. I want to be that same kind of comfortable with you again.” He found that he maybe should have thought that last part through a little more before letting it out, but it was too late to change that now.

George found his body tensing up slightly, as he pulled himself back out of the night and into the moment, into the slight gap between the two of them, and the way the past few months had put it into motion. “I want that too.”

-

_ ‘Winter: _

_ It’s the warm feeling inside a cold room. _

_ The sky turning from black to blue. _

_ The time of year when everything begins to die. _

_ But being honest, I’ve never felt more alive.’ _

It was the seventeenth of December: a Friday night. A Friday night spent at home; the first time in a good few months. It was something they were comfortable with,  _ used _ to - the practice of late nights and parties and getting pissed, but always getting home together, getting home safe. It had been that way since they were sixteen, when they’d made it home after being kicked out or forced to run from the police in the early hours of the morning. They tended to be making it back home not long after midnight these days, and George would comment on how they were getting old, whereas Matty knew that they always went home when he started to feel  _ off _ , with that same unsettling feeling inside of him.

It had gotten to the point where George could tell when he was feeling off, and George, being George, always insisted that they went home immediately, despite how much Matty did his best to express the fact that he was fine really - maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was - in all honesty, he wasn’t really that sure. He always felt better when they got home, but he’d figured by now that it was half to do with the familiarity and peace and quiet, and half to do with George.

It wasn’t that Matty didn’t  _ like _ going to parties anymore, because he did, and he was perfectly fine; he liked drinking, and talking to people, dancing and ending up looking like a prat, because that was all a part of it, really. It was just the knot that seemed to form in his stomach ever so often, and Matty had always wished that he could even begin to understand it, but in reality, the moment he put two and two together was the moment that it all got so much worse.

That was the thing, Matty hadn’t had a proper ‘crush’...  _ feelings _ for someone, anyone in a few years now. Not properly anyway, not like this. Because this certainly had the  _ crush _ thing down, because it was just, quite honestly,  _ crushing _ . And easily the last thing he needed, having only just sort of vaguely come to terms with the fact that he was just a little bit less than straight - at least this made him very sure of his feelings towards guys, but he wasn’t sure he could handle looking at his best friend of over ten years and just wanting to snog him.

How close they were didn’t help - it didn’t help at all, because the last thing Matty wanted to end up doing was pushing himself away from George over his stupid fucking feelings, but there was only so much he could do when practically spooning each other was just a normal  _ Matty And George _ kind of thing.

That particular night they had decided to stay in, well  _ George _ had decided that they should stay in and Matty had decided that he was too pretty to argue with. There was a party - there always was a party with the friends they had, but it was hosted by some girl George had once dated when he was seventeen, and had made a point of being insistent that they couldn’t possibly go because he was still upset over their breakup after six years, and  _ not _ because he’d noticed how Matty was acting off again that evening.

Matty never wanted George to worry and adjust their lives about his stupid fucking feelings, but of course, George was unaware as to just what it was that always got Matty in such a state, and likely thought it was something substantial and not just so painfully ridiculous.

They had ended up ordering Chinese and sitting in front of the TV, sitting practically on top of each other, because George had grown to notice how perfectly Matty seemed to fit in his lap, and he had never been sure what to think of that, but there wasn’t a notion in his body that this was a bad thing at all.

They ended up like this most nights, sat together, curled up under the pretense of excuse, like it was something that they had to do to be like this with one another, because as close as they were, they were crossing dangerously close to it all being very  _ questionable _ . The kind of thing that Ross and Hann would ask about, even though they’d all been best friends since they were about twelve, because perhaps cuddling for hours everyday and sleeping on the sofa because they didn’t want to sleep in separate beds was not just something that best friends did.

“You getting tired?” George came to ask, noticing the way Matty’s eyelids grew heavier, his head nestling back into George’s chest. Matty let out an incoherent mumble in response. “And you wanted to go to that party.” George gave a snort at that.

Matty opened his eyes then, looking up at George as if there was something else to his words. “I did.” He insisted, because somehow they were still at the stage of masquerading a bitter kind of truth behind faultily constructed, yet increasingly persistent white lies. “I  _ did _ .”

“Well, I don’t want to have to carry you out of my ex-girlfriend’s house after you’ve passed out on the floor.” George shook his head, of course caring far more about Matty than the ex-girlfriend, but his sentence had all the emphasis in all the wrong places.

“We could have gone out somewhere else. I like getting pissed, you know, it’s  _ Friday night _ .” Matty began to pick at the frayed edge of the rip in George’s jeans. “I wouldn’t be sleepy if I was pissed.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s alcohol that makes you pass out, you know?” George smiled, reaching his hand down to where Matty was picking at his jeans, and curling his fingers around Matty’s hand, finding that Matty froze and pushed back against his touch instantly. “And it’s not like we don’t have a whole cupboard full of drink.”

Matty gave a nod: meek, and cut off, as every cell in his body fixated upon the way George’s hand was curled around his, and the way George seemed so reluctant to pull away.

“We could open a bottle of wine if you want?” George suggested, fingers now brushing gently against the back of Matty’s hand.

“Yeah, please.” Matty managed to stumble out: focusing very little on the wine itself, as he found that he wasn’t actually that fussed at all, but so very much on the fact that George would have to move away from him to get it, and Matty was pretty sure he was going to stop breathing full time if George didn’t move his hand away.

It was ridiculous. Matty knew it, of course, and sat rather awkwardly with his legs pulled up against his chest as George made a quick trip to the kitchen. He wasn’t even sure that he really wanted a drink, but he reckoned that this had to be one of those situations that could only be helped by getting drunk, or at least he hoped as much, because he didn’t know what he was going to do otherwise.

After a minute or so had passed, George returned, placing a bottle of red wine down onto the coffee table, along with two wine glasses. He sat down beside Matty, already leaning up against him as he poured them a glass each. Matty found himself instantly reaching for his drink and downing half of it in one go.

George raised his eyebrows at Matty over his glass. “You alright?” He met his gaze before taking a sip of his own drink.

“Not all of us are sophisticated forty year old mothers of three, George.” Matty rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his glass, placing it back down on the table with a little too much force.

George snorted at that, leaning back in the sofa and watching as Matty poured himself a second glass. “I’m not letting you just get  _ drunk _ , you’re not just downing that one.”

“Why not?” Matty poured himself a second drink and held it awkwardly out in front of him. “What’s the point of drinking if not to get drunk? It  _ is _ going to happen. If you didn’t want me to get drunk then you should have suggested we bring out the Ribena.”

George rolled his eyes, placing a hand on Matty’s shoulder. “Just don’t drink it all in one go, alright. It’ll make you feel shit.” Matty shot him an ‘I don’t care’ kind of look. “You’re drinking like you’re fucked up and you want it to fix all of your problems. So you tell me what’s going on or you calm down, alright?”

Matty shrugged, twirling the glass around in his hand. “Just feel  _ weird _ again.” 

“I’ve noticed.” George added, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s something you should probably talk about.”

Matty leaned into George in response, letting him put his arm around his shoulders. It wasn’t the act of being this close to George that made him feel weird, it was just everything that lay behind it, just everything Matty felt like this could and couldn’t mean.

It felt better now, easier now; he’d been right about the wine, especially after another glass or two, and he wondered if George would notice the chance, he wondered how that’d change things, but what he didn’t do was say anything at all as he fell back into his lap again, ending up half between his legs, half looking up at him: an awkward mess of limbs, really.

George finished his glass of wine and reached forward to place it back down on the coffee table. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” He noted, running hand back through Matty’s hair.

“No.” Matty insisted, making a point of opening his eyes wider. “I’m fine. You’re not my mum, you can’t make me go to bed.”

“You can sleep here again, if you want…” George trailed off, hand stopping amidst Matty’s curls, tangling his fingers around them. “We can. I kind of don’t want to get up either.”

“Why are you the mum?” Matty grumbled, letting his eyelids droop again. “I’m older than you, just because you’re taller doesn’t mean shit. Just because you go and get the wine doesn’t mean you’re the mum-”

“Matty, mate.” George let out a laugh, “what  _ are _ you saying?”

“You’re not the mum… in us… there isn’t a mum. I think that’d be weird.” Matty continued, leaning back into the touch of George’s hand in his hair. “It’s like when people ask gay couples who the girl is? There isn’t a girl, that’s kind of the point. Like there isn’t a mum, that’s… I mean…” Matty closed his eyes properly then.

“I’d be the mum. You’d be the girl.” George finished for him; this was something Matty instantly perked up in response to. “Come on, Matty, you  _ would  _ be the girl.”

“I’m not the  _ girl _ . That’s the point, that there’s  _ not _ a girl, and that’s why it’s…” Matty trailed off, biting his lip: that was why it was different,  _ difficult _ , because if George was a girl, or if he, himself, was a girl, then things wouldn’t be quite so complicated at all.

“You’re prettiest.” George finished for him, resting his chin against the top of Matty’s head. “By far.”

“Boys can be pretty too.” Matty insisted, pulling away slightly. “That’s the  _ thing _ , George, I  _ am _ a boy, and that’s why it’s different. If I was a girl then it wouldn’t be weird, and it wouldn’t be on my mind like this. And it should be fine, the idea of two guys, a normal thing, that I wouldn’t even have to think about, but it isn’t like that.”

“It’s not weird.” George told him, meeting his gaze and leaning their heads closer once more. “Nothing’s  _ weird _ about this.”

“This.” Matty repeated back at him: eyebrows raised slightly.

“ _ Matty _ .” George gave him a knowing look. “I know you’re not a girl. It’s not  _ weird _ .”

“Yeah, but it’s not really a Matty And George thing anymore, is it?” Matty glanced away, wondering just exactly when George had come to understand exactly what all of this was about.

“Says who?” George placed a hand on Matty’s cheek, grabbing his attention within instants. “Surely we have authority on what is and  _ isn’t _ a Matty And George thing?”

“Yeah. I guess.” Matty found himself blushing and so very aware of George’s hand on his cheek, and in that, it was George’s lips on his that took him by surprise.

It was short, gentle, but meaningful. The first and only time they had kissed - it had been down to wine, but it wasn’t something either of them came to regret, at least not until the New Year.

_ ‘Each night is growing longer, _

_ But this time I think I want them to. _

_ Each night we cross all kinds of lines. _

_ But this time I think I just want you.’ _

-

“That night.” George bit his lip, looking at Matty beside him and found himself overwhelmed with the fact that they really weren’t so far away from how things had been then. “When I kissed you.”

“Yeah.” Matty nodded, looking away and biting at his bottom lip. “That was…” He trailed off, not really sure what to say. “How did you know? I never told you. How did you know what exactly I was talking about.”

“You were staring at my lips and talking about who would be the girl in a hypothetical relationship between us.” George’s lips fell into a smile. “You’re not nearly as discreet as you think you are, Matty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew before?” He asked, looking up at George with confusion, “and keep asking me to tell you what was wrong?”

“I wanted to hear it from you.” George explained, leaning back and letting out a sigh. “Kind of nervous, honestly. I didn’t want to rush you into anything. Didn’t want to rush myself into anything either. I also for a while wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”

“But you ended up feeling the same?” Matty’s eyes grew wide.

“I kissed you, didn’t I?” George spoke like that was enough, but the both of them knew that it really wasn’t, for that night was something they’d never really spoken about at all. In fact, the whole of December was so severely under-discussed, George came to wonder how they’d ever come that far at all.

-

_ ‘This: _

_ This is for sleepless nights and days wasted too. _

_ This is for the man I am and the boy you once knew. _

_ This is for the mistakes we have and will always make. _

_ This is for all of my give and all of your take.’ _

It was the twelfth of January, and Matty had almost spent two weeks alone now. Two weeks of wasting away inside himself and his own bedroom. There had always been a part of him that knew it was the worst thing that he could have done, but he was never the best when it came to making healthy decisions, but neither was George, it had seemed, so at least they were in it together - so far apart, and  _ anything _ but together, but bearing the same burden, just under two different roofs.

So much and yet so little had occurred in the past two weeks; Matty was pretty sure something inside him had stopped that very moment it had all happened - that very moment he’d walked in and saw George kissing her. It had gone off like explosions, like fireworks in the back of his mind, but it was anything but celebration - it was fireworks, if you had fireworks for funerals, and things like that.

It was running, and getting home, and locked doors keeping him safe and friends he regretted giving keys to, and people trying to get inside, not just the room but his head, people who thought they could make it all better - people who thought they could understand. And George, George with his sad eyes and his apologies and his hushed explanations, but it was the last thing he wanted to hear, and George was just the last thing that Matty wanted to see.

So he left. He left their home - what had been their home, and although Matty had wanted him to, he couldn’t do anything but cry - cry and cry for days, like it was the only thing he could do, like there was no end, like there was no escape route, like George wouldn’t be coming back, as he’d been assured that he would.

But Matty had been right for the longest time.

It wasn’t even just the kiss. It was just the emptiness in the house, and Matty’s inability to exist on his own, coupled with his inability to let anyone know how much he’d been affected by all of this. It was just lonely nights and lonely days spent staring at the shadows projected onto his bedroom walls: making angels and demons out of the way the light twisted around his closet.

Ross had let himself inside that day: having taken to visiting daily for the past week, because he’d noticed the state Matty had ended up in, but still found himself not  _ entirely  _ sure what he could do about it, or as to what he could do with George either. George hadn’t locked himself away, but seemed to regard Matty with an unnatural kind of bitterness and largely refused to mention him after moving in with a girl he barely knew - really, he was just moving away from Matty, but Ross reckoned that only made it feel worse.

He made his way to Matty’s bedroom, finding that Matty, was as he suspected, curled up in bed: eyes drifting off out of the window, gaze vacant and cold - it was the kind of thing that hurt to look at, especially for the fact that Ross couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why, or even how to fix it. There was a definite unwillingness held by both Matty and George, Ross was just optimistically confident that it would fade within a week or so. Of course he didn’t know it then, but he was so very wrong.

“Matty, come on, get out of bed, won’t you?” Ross gave a glance in Matty’s direction before pacing around his room, stopping momentarily at his window and pulling the curtains further to let more light in. “It’s one in the afternoon.” He felt the need to fill the silence he received in response.

“Don’t want to.” Matty mumbled against his pillow, closing his eyes and attempting to block out the bright midday sun, but struggling in doing so.

“Why not?” Ross let out a sigh, sitting down on the end of Matty’s bed and looking over him in disbelief: attempting to possibly piece together just what could have let to this. “What’s going to happen if you get out of bed?”

“ _ Life _ .” Matty scoffed at the prospect, turning on his side to meet Ross’ eyes.

“Life’s going to happen whilst you’re in bed, mate.” He assured him, “life’s happening right now. You’re just missing out on it, and not to put a downer on everything, but it’s not like any of us are going to live forever.”

Matty gave a shrug, turning onto his back, “good.”

Ross raised his eyebrows in response to that. “Good?” He inquired further. “What’s good about that?”

“Don’t want to live forever.” Matty let his eyes open wider: fixating his gaze upon the emptiness of the ceiling, taking in the variations of off white as if they were the glistening white gates of heaven up above. “Don’t want to live, really, at all.”

Ross swallowed hard, without a clue what to say to that at all, even come April, he still hadn’t quite figured out how to address that certain little comment. He’d simply sat there: eyes wide and bleak, blood growing cold inside his veins.

It was Matty that broke the silence, on the reasoning that he was the one that had started it, after all, or something like that. “What would I do if I wasn’t in bed? What’s the fucking difference really? No one cares about me anymore.”

“Matty, that’s the biggest lie I’ve  _ ever _ heard.” Ross assured him, shaking his head in disbelief, “ _ I _ care about you, your family-”

“Not what I mean.” Matty cut him off, kicking the duvet away from his body, and it was only then that Ross had felt thankful that he’d been sleeping in the same clothes he’d been wearing for the past few days. “George doesn’t care about me.”

Ross bit his lip, “course he does. He’s your best friend,” he wasn’t entirely sure if that was true anymore, but it wasn’t just like he could have  _ agreed _ with Matty.

“He  _ was _ . Fucking doesn't anymore, does he?” Matty scoffed, turning back to face Ross. “He’d be here wouldn’t he? If he did?”

“Matty, he’s only not here because you refused to acknowledge his existence!” Ross insisted, watching as Matty finally sat up, leaning back against the headboard. “If you want to see him, then I can get him to come over.”

“I don’t want that though.” Matty shook his head, “doesn’t care about me. Not properly.”

“Tell me what’s going on.” Ross had gone past the stage of asking politely, but now  _ needing _ to know what was going on. “Come on, Matty, tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s fucking going on. He’s just a dickhead, and I’m an idiot.” Matty turned away, letting his gaze drift off out of the window and into their sorry excuse for a garden. Well,  _ his _ .

“Matty, come on,  _ obviously _ -”

“How would you know?” Matty finally raised his voice, turning and looking at Ross as if he’d assumed the world’s most preposterous thing known to man, and not what was essentially, as much as Matty wished to deny it, the truth.

“Okay.” Ross bit his lip, accepting that he’d have to change his approach. “Fine, if you’re absolutely  _ fine _ and nothing’s going on then how about you get out of bed and  _ do _ something?”

Matty turned and hit him with a look. “Do what?”

“Whatever you  _ want _ . Something. Anything.” Ross looked pleading, and so desperately unaware that Matty’s whole life had always seemed to revolve somewhat around George. “Write something?” He suggested, “come over to mine.”

“I don’t want to go outside.” Matty bit his lip, wondering if he was being too blunt, but finding rather quickly that he didn’t really care.

“So you’ll work on a poem or something?” Ross gave him a  _ look _ , “I think maybe you should. Might make you feel better.”

Matty shrugged, “I guess.” He began to bite at his fingernails. “I don’t know what to write really, though. It’ll be shit.”

“Not everything has to be good, nothing everything has to even be seen by a single other human being.” Ross glanced across at Matty’s desk, eyeing the pile of paper beside his typewriter with curiosity. “You’re writing for yourself and not other people.  _ About _ other people maybe, but not  _ for _ them.”

And Matty had rolled his eyes at Ross that afternoon, but sat down and poured his heart out that evening, but in place of better, he’d found himself looking down at the honest truth in black ink and coming to hate every fibre of his being.

_ ‘This is for parties and one night stands. _

_ This is for your fingers wrapped around my hands. _

_ This is for late nights and early mornings merged into one. _

_ This is for what I’ve let it all become.’ _

-

“I’m sorry.” That was all George could say for a good while after reading it over for the second time. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Matty eventually came to respond: pulling his legs up to his chest in an attempt to hide away inside himself, because it had been different before, when his poetry had fixated on the time they had spent together, the things George knew, and not what he was yet to discover.

“I honestly just...” He let out a sigh, head in his hands. “I honestly just, don’t even  _ know  _ why I kissed her… I just. I don’t think I… I even thought you really had such strong feelings about me, it kind of got to the point where I thought I was just overcompensating inside my own head, trying to keep myself sane.”

“I was bad at dealing with it.” Matty admitted, biting at his bottom lip. “We were bad at talking about things. Still are, I guess. I don’t like confrontation, I guess.”

“You do.” George broke into a smile, “oh come on, you  _ do _ .”

“Not when it  _ matters _ . Not when it’s with people I really care about, not when it could go wrong.” Matty glanced across at George, holding his gaze for a moment. “I overthink things.”

“I know.” George gave him a smile, heart skipping a beat as Matty leaned into him.

“It’s not really the  _ kiss _ . I mean, I just… it was at first, but it was how you went to live with her and date her like nothing had  _ ever _ happened.” Matty’s voice grew very quiet: little more than a whisper into George’s side. “That’s what I never really understood.”

“It wasn’t the best relationship.” George admitted, putting his arm around Matty, half scared that he’d suddenly move away from him at the mention of Saffy. “I needed to get away from you at the time. I’d fucked up and I couldn’t face how much it had affected you, and then I kind of could only go to her place, because everyone else would ask questions, whereas she doesn’t know you, doesn’t know us, you know? And then, I mean we got intimate and I sort of ended up staying there. I missed you, I  _ always _ missed you. It just got to the end of February and I really didn’t think that you would ever want me back.”

“I always wanted you back. I was just scared, and I never wanted anyone else to know what had happened.” Matty looked away, not sure if he was that comfortable with it even now.

“Do you still not want other people to know?” George asked, meeting Matty with concern set deep within his eyes. “Because you don’t have to talk about things-”

“I do.” Matty came to conclude. “I think I do. I’m just scared. It kind of makes things different, doesn’t it?”

George was ready to ask how, but stopped himself, “good or bad kind of different?”

Matty shrugged, shaking his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Well…” George paused for a second, thinking it through before continuing. “I’m pretty certain that this is going to be a  _ very _ good kind of different.”

“How certain?” Matty looked up at him: eyes wide as if he trusted him with the world, and George still couldn’t feel worthy of that.

“How certain do I need to be for you to trust me?”

“ _ Certain _ .” Matty took a moment to respond, but seemed very confident in his response once it had left his lips.

“Well, what if I said I was  _ very _ certain?”

“Then I guess I’d just have to trust you.”

-

_ ‘Two different people in two different homes: _

_ There’s me, and then there’s you. _

_ There’s your head, and then there’s my heart. _

_ There’s how we changed and how we grew. _

_ But I don’t want to grow if we just grow apart.’ _

It was Valentine’s Day. The fourteenth of February, really. It didn’t mean anything - it was the same as any other day, and Matty found himself insistent on that: so very insistent as he sat in his room, head in his hands, trying not to cry, trying not to think about the falsification of the value of love and romance, trying not to think about things that once were, the kind of life he once had, the kind of person they’d both been.

It was bullshit, because Matty had never cared before. But then again, Matty had never really felt about someone quite like this before, but he hadn’t exactly been in a rush to accept that. What was the use in coming to conclusions that could only knock him down? What was the use in looking for the answers in the kind of questions that would destroy you?

And really, what was the use in Instagram stalking your ex-best friend/sort of maybe vague romantic interest’s girlfriend on Valentine’s Day? Matty, of course, knew it was a bad idea, and that everything in his life that related to George these days was something he had to get Adam or Ross to talk him out of. But not telling him that George was actually dating her wasn’t a good decision on his friends’ part, so they owed him one fuck up on the basis of that, at least.

Because it wasn’t like they hadn’t known, because of course they had, because the entirety of her Instagram was pictures of him, pictures of them, pictures of her looking pretty - the ‘right’ kind of pretty, the way that pretty girls were just  _ girls _ , and not how pretty boys were always  _ pretty boys _ and never just boys, and how George had said that didn’t matter, but it obviously did. It was like how George had said that he was sorry - he obviously wasn’t.

It was just the thing, though, that whenever either of them had gone through a breakup or just anything like that, they’d always turn to each other, and find the solution in dumb jokes and days indoors, and movie marathons, and excessive amounts of alcohol, and none of those things seemed to work nearly as well when you were on your own, because Matty had never accounted for the day that he’d be hung up and heartbroken over George himself.

Matty had never accounted for a lot of things, but he’d come to learn that everything did indeed have to fall apart, and the sense of permanence could never be anything besides overly falsified in a temporary lifetime. ‘Til death do us part’, because it always would, because things never mattered and things never lasted - the only thing you could be sure that you were stuck with was yourself, and the bitter voice of your ever critical conscience at the back of your mind.

Matty had tried not to be spiteful, tried to reason with himself and look at things from outside his own head, but the thing was that you could never  _ really _ leave your own head. He just couldn’t see how it was fair that George got to be happy with  _ her _ , and he was left here, alone, inside his head, because of course, everyone else had fucking girlfriends as well, and this was the one day Ross couldn’t come and get him out of bed and force him to eat something, and Matty thought he would have been relieved, but he was anything but.

Because he didn’t want to be like this, in this kind of fucking state, and in all honesty, he wasn’t at all sure as to quite how he’d gotten there, he just had no idea as to how he could possibly make his way back out again.

He just missed him. Missed him like hell - missed him like he was only really just learning what the world ‘hell’ did actually mean. But missed him with the overbearing knowledge that there was just so little he could actually do about it, because George didn’t want him back in his life, not anymore, not now he had her. George didn’t want him; no one did, not really anyway.

And more so, Matty just missed the version of himself who didn’t lie in bed for days, and wish for tomorrow to come just for the sake of change, will on the next hour just for the sake of time passing, wish for the leaves to grow back on the trees just for the sake of something different to glance upon each morning.

He was depressed or something like that, but that was one of those words he couldn’t just throw around and trust people to leave him alone with, because that was floating dangerously to the line where people would start to care, and his mum would get properly concerned and make him come back home and move in with her, and his friends would make him talk to them about things, begin to seek the answers to questions they didn’t even know, and Matty couldn’t stomach that.

More so, he couldn’t stomach the way George would eventually hear about it through mutual friends: the way it would eventually drift back to him, and he would look up, open his eyes a little wider, and saying something pathetic and half arsed like ‘oh’, or ‘I never realised he had it that bad.’ And those were just things that George didn’t get to think anymore, because George didn’t get to think and he didn’t get to know if he wasn’t there, he didn’t get to fucking fall in love with her and pretend to care about how it might affect him.

Matty wondered if George had even thought about how Matty might possibly end up hearing about it: wondering if George had even cared, wondering how much he’d changed in their time apart, and whether he thought it for the better or the worse.

And that was just the thing, people weren’t like trees: when everything decayed and fell to the floor in the winter, you couldn’t just expect it all to grow back again in the spring.

In the end, as the hours dragged on by, Matty found himself resorting to the only thing he could do in situations like this: resort to the typewriter on his desk, and look for the answers in everything he already knew. It was something Ross would tell him to do, and as much as Matty despised the idea of listening to clueless people who thought they knew everything about you, he knew that Ross was probably right.

And in the end, he didn’t feel better after getting something down, but just that little less empty and that little less worthless. Not that it mattered so much anymore, because here he was, spinning his heart into words for the man he thought certainly would never read it.

_ ‘You are the leaves in autumn. _

_ I am the snow in spring. _

_ I think we’ve already forgotten: _

_ How this ever did begin.’ _

-

Matty had been wrong, and yet the way George’s eyes scanned over the poem didn’t quite seem real - not  _ really _ . He wasn’t quite sure how, but began to suspect that it lay in the silence between them, and the way which that very silence seemed so uninclined to ever go away. Still, Matty found himself less than prepared to break it.

George was the one that did it in the end, after a good ten minutes had passed, as the two of them just sat there: so close yet so distant from one another, bodies together on that sofa, but their minds off elsewhere, off in a world in which they had taken pride and made a point out of leading two separate lives, and reflecting on how wrong they had been.

“Valentine’s Day?” George pointed to the date with his index finger. Matty gave a nod in response. “And I spent the day with her.”

“You spent four months with her.” Matty corrected him, regarding him with a kind of look that George felt was so out of place upon his face.

“I know.” George let out a sigh, “I shouldn’t have cut you off from my life, but there’s nothing we can do to change the past, is there?”

“No.” Matty paused for a moment. “It fucking hurt though, you know?”

“I know.” George repeated, curling his fingers tightly around Matty’s hand, and feeling him shiver against his touch. “And I’m sorry. I really am, and this is me trying my best to understand and make it up to you.”

Matty gave a nod, pausing for a moment, before looking up at George with an odd kind of look in his eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Like what was it that was so  _ good _ about her? Was she just  _ insanely _ good at blowjobs or something?” Matty’s voice grew louder and more expressive, but he looked away from George as he spoke.

George gave a snort in response: shrugging. “It was just the fact that she was  _ there _ and pretty, really.”

“But I’m  _ here _ and  _ pretty _ .” Matty insisted, looking a little upset. “It was blowjobs, wasn’t it?”

“ _ Matty- _ ”

“I mean, who’s to say that I’m  _ also _ not insanely good at blowjobs? I could better - you’d never know.” 

George just  _ looked _ at Matty: eyes blown wide as he attempted to really take in what Matty had just said. “It wasn’t anything to do with blowjobs.”

“Oh…” Matty gave a nod, pausing for a moment. “I mean, thinking about it, I’ve never given anyone a blowjob-”

“Matty, you’re not sucking me off to avoid talking about your feelings-”

“I think it would clear things up, though, wouldn’t it?”

“Look, things fucked up before because we didn’t do things properly, so we’re  _ going _ to do things properly.”

And Matty just had to admit that George was right on that count. Matty wasn’t sure blowjobs would solve much, in all honesty, but if he’d had George’s cock in his mouth he could be certain in the fact that there was no denying that  _ something _ had gone on, and he found himself just so desperate to cling to something real in all of this, because there was always this nagging worry at the back of his mind screaming that everything might just drift off again into nothingness before he could do anything to stop it.

-

_ ‘I think too much: _

_ I wonder if I ever will forget you. _

_ I wonder if there ever is an end. _

_ I wonder if you think about things like I do. _

_ And if we ever did become more than just friends.’ _

It was the twentieth of March, and Matty found his head weighed down with thoughts - the bad kind of thoughts, the ones he’d told himself he shouldn’t have. The ones he couldn’t have, the ones he couldn’t let himself have, because he couldn’t let things go too far; he had to at least be able to pretend he was okay, keep up the facade, and hide away behind it all.

Ross and Hann, who were really the only people he spoke to anymore, had figured it out by now, well quite a well ago. They knew that he was in a state - a fucked up kind of nonsensical state that wasn’t doing anything to help anybody, but it was a state that didn’t seem to hold any viable way out of it. It was just the matter of his family, and his mum in particular, who had taken to calling him much more frequently as of late, which lead him to suspect that maybe someone had said something to her, and that just wasn’t something Matty could deal with.

He didn’t want to be the failure of a son; he didn’t want to be the person who couldn’t fucking look after himself, because he  _ could _ , he just  _ wasn’t _ \- didn’t see the point in it, that kind of thing. Or at least that was what he’d been telling himself, because deep down, maybe he couldn’t look after himself at all, maybe he needed to go back to his mum’s place, and just accept that he was a fuck up, and let all of the family look at him weirdly for the next ten years or so of family gatherings.

What was worse, of course, was the prospect of his family asking questions, and his mum eventually getting to the truth behind this all - the fact that this had all happened because Matty couldn’t deal with the fact that his best friend had kissed a girl at a party three months ago now, just because they’d kissed once when drunk and maybe held hands a bit. Because what the fuck did that even mean anymore? December felt like it had happened in another lifetime, and Matty was beginning to believe that it had - it just didn’t feel  _ real _ at all.

Although Matty wasn’t sure what real  _ meant _ anymore. What anything meant, because the whole world seemed to blur into one big mess of poetry he’d never publish and days spent alone in bed, thinking of George, and other things he shouldn’t.

He’d gotten out of bed that day, and he was at the unfortunate point in his life where he could consider that as progress. Although, he hadn’t really gotten far, only making it to his desk, pushing the window open to smoke a few cigarettes as he stared at his typewriter and the white blank page, and how he really didn’t have the energy left to write a thing today.

Ross had suggested writing daily if he found it hard to speak to people - it had been an awkward kind of hope for the best suggestion, but Matty appreciated that he was trying nonetheless, because really, no one had expected that he’d fall into this state, and in turn he should expect no one to even attempt to help him out of it. 

Really, Matty had only attempted to follow his advice because he’d looked so meek and pleading when he’d suggested it, and Matty had felt sorry for him. It didn’t work at all, and he was getting to the point where he wasn’t sure that anything would, because he most  _ certainly _ was not going to a doctor, and he mostly  _ certainly _ was not taking pills, because that was the final straw - that was acceptance and admittance of the fact that you were a fuck up in his eyes, and he wouldn’t let himself go that far, despite how much everyone seemed to suggest it.

It was around four that afternoon that his mum called him; it was almost becoming daily now, and that was something Matty couldn’t help but  _ think _ about. Surely she must be worried, surely someone must have told her something, and he just didn’t want to imagine what, and he didn’t want to blame Ross if he didn’t have to, although it had to be him, because he was the kind of person who did those things. He was only trying his best, really, only trying to make things better, and Matty couldn’t hate him for that.

“Did you eat something today?” Matty widened his eyes slightly at the rather abrupt ‘greeting’ on his mum’s part.

“Well hello to you too.” He let out a snort, leaning back in his chair and setting his phone down on speaker as he lit another cigarette.

“Hello.” She let out a sigh, “now come on, did you eat something?” There was a certain insistence in her voice that led Matty to convince himself of the fact that someone had to have been telling her things. “Don’t avoid the question,  _ Matthew _ .”

He cringed slightly at her use of his full name and the change in tone that went with it. “I did, yeah.” He thought back to the very crappy lunch he’d made himself a few hours ago. “I had a sandwich.”

“And?” She grew more insistent.

“Just a sandwich.” He bit his lip, waiting for her response, waiting for her to tell him to eat more, because really he knew that he should, but he just didn’t feel like eating, didn’t feel like doing  _ anything _ . It was more than just George that had ended up affecting him now - he’d worked that out, but he didn’t really have a clue as to what else it could possibly be.

“You need to eat more than that-”

“I know.” He let out a sigh, “I know that, it’s just  _ hard _ , I don’t know, I just… I’m not really very motivated to do anything at all.”

“What happened when George left?” She asked, leaving Matty rather wide eyed, as he certainly hadn’t seen it coming so quickly. “Come on,” she continued in response to his silence. “It’s to do with him, isn’t it?”

Matty shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know. I guess, I miss him-”

“What made him leave? What  _ happened?” _ She prompted, and Matty wasn’t sure that he could lie to her like he could lie to everyone else.

“He went to live with his girlfriend.” Matty awkwardly avoided the truth, because what he said wasn’t a  _ lie _ , not really, but it definitely wasn’t the truth.

“You’ve been best friends for over ten years, you think I don’t know that he wouldn’t just move out like that without something else happening?” And really, Matty just didn’t know  _ what _ to say to that. “Matty?”

“I…” He trailed off, shaking his head, “I don’t really know what happened. We kind of had an argument, I don’t know, I guess I ended up pushing him away. I guess I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s happened now, it’s not going to change.”

“Maybe he wants you back in his life again?” She suggested, but Matty found himself quick to shake off the prospect.

“No he doesn’t.” He told her.

“How would you know without asking him?”

“I think if he wanted me back in his life he’d come over and make that effort.” Matty paused for a moment, “doesn’t matter though, because I don’t want him to. We’re done. He’s got his girlfriend, and I’ve got a puppy now, so we’re fine - it doesn’t matter.”

-

_ ‘I wonder if the ache inside grew too strong.’ _

_ ‘I wonder if it’s not just my heart but my head’s that broken too.’ _

_ ‘I wonder if deep down I knew it all along.’ _

_ ‘Because you say that you’re sorry but I don’t think that’s true.’ _

-

George’s gaze remained rather vacant as he read through the poem for what was likely the tenth time. And in response to that, Matty found himself obliged to break the silence, despite how little he wanted to.

“I wrote that when I made myself hate you.” He looked away, not wanting to watch the way George would react to that. “I convinced myself that being angry was better than being sad, although there wasn’t much difference in the end. I think, I just, I don’t know, it felt like an easier thing to talk to my mum about - hating you rather than loving you. Not  _ love _ but… you know what I mean.” He felt his cheeks burn up, and took a moment to compose himself.

“I know what you mean.” George’s words came as little more than a whisper in the silence that followed, but still they seemed to hold the power to echo around Matty’s head for days. 

“That was when my mum started calling me like everyday. I was annoyed that she was so worried about me, but I guess she had a point, I mean, I always knew that I was in a state, but I just didn’t  _ care _ , I mean, really I’ve only just started to care like  _ properly _ . I don’t know… it’s weird…” He trailed off, finally sneaking a glance in George’s direction. “She kept asking me if I’d been eating and stuff. I think Ross ended up telling her that I was in a state - that’s a Ross thing to do, isn’t it? And I guess I was kind of pissed, but I don’t know, it was probably the right thing in the end.”

“Mmm…” George gave a nod. “So you  _ properly _ hated me?”

“I never properly hated you.” He shook his head, leaning closer to George as if to prove his point. “I just made that up, I don’t know, I made myself think that. It was like something I needed as like a defense mechanism, like I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t just this pathetic piece of shit.”

“You’re not a piece of shit. You’re not pathetic.” George’s response was instant. “It’s not your fault.”

Matty bit his lip and forced himself to nod. “Okay, yeah.” He paused for a moment, “sorry if I made my mum think that you’re the biggest piece of shit that has ever lived.”

George gave a laugh, “it’s alright,” he assured him. “She doesn’t think that.” Matty hit him with a questioning look, and George admitted to himself that there was just something that he might have to tell him. “Being honest,” he began, catching Matty’s gaze. “I rang your mum because I was worried about you. It wasn’t Ross. I asked her to check that you were okay, and I hoped that she’d get through to you more than anyone else could.”

Matty was rather taken aback and just found himself staring at George for a good ten seconds. “I didn’t think you even  _ cared _ . Well, not then at least.”

George shook his head, “I always cared about you, come on, don’t be an idiot.”

And Matty wasn’t sure why but it was just hearing George say that which really seemed to change  _ everything _ .

-

_ ‘George: _

_ ‘I’m scared not of us, not of who we’ve been,  _

_ Not of the mistakes we’ve made, but who we could be,  _

_ And how that feels so out of reach, with lack of answer or solution,  _

_ And how we’re just worlds away this time around.’ _

The last poem George read was the one Matty had written just earlier that day; the one that had been so simply entitled ‘George’, the one that had been so blatant from the start, and the one that had Matty shaking slightly as George read it through for the first time.

“Worlds away?” When George did finally speak, his voice came out in little more than a whisper, which seemed to catch the both of them by surprise, as there certainly had been this part in Matty that was counting on George to be the emotionally put together one throughout this.

“Everything’s different now, like, it’s a whole different story, things can’t go the way they did last time, it’s all new, and as much as I’m thankful for that, it scares me.” He stopped for a moment, putting more thought into simply taking a breath than was entirely necessary. “I don’t know if there’s a good kind of scared, but if there is, this would definitely be it.”

George looked over the poem for what Matty secretly hoped would be the final time; his insides had the awful habit of clenching up whenever George read his work - it was like he was exposing himself to him, everything out there for him to see, and that was perhaps the thing that left Matty the most on edge. He knew, of course, that George wasn’t the kind of person that would judge him, or at least he was doing a pretty good job of convincing himself as such, but that didn’t shut up the voice at the back of his head which came into play every once in awhile with a ‘what if’ or a ‘you never know’.

“Who do you want us to be?” It was, however, what George asked as finished rereading the poem, putting it down on the coffee table with the others, that left Matty the most nervous, because this just wasn’t a question he could answer in a second without a moment’s thought or worry. George seemed to read this all off his face, “if you don’t know, that’s okay, I was just asking.”

“Mmm.” Matty gave a nod, looking up to meet George’s gaze. “I don’t quite know.”

George paused for a moment, glancing over the living room that slowly become  _ theirs _ again - it was an unspoken but definitely mutual decision: held in the lack of distance between the two of them, and how the hurt of four months had mostly faded in just a few days. “No one’s ever named a poem after me before. That’s sweet, you know?”

Matty couldn’t help but blush, bringing his hands up to cover his face in response, despite that fact that George had of course, already noticed, and of course, didn’t care. “It’s hardly a poem. Just something I kind of threw out earlier today.”

“It means a lot, though. All of this does.” He gestured at all of Matty’s ‘George focused work’, which lay across the coffee table. “And surely it’s the emotion and the meaning behind it that counts.”

Matty gave small nod in response. “If you think so.”

“I do.” George paused for a moment, taking the time just to  _ look _ at Matty, because he was just  _ so… _ George didn’t even know - it was like there weren’t enough words in the English language to adequately describe him, because really, he was just  _ Matty _ , and it was the emotion and George’s association with him that put it all into reality. “I guess maybe I’m biased though - them being all about me.”

Matty scoffed, his cheeks pink, “they’re not  _ all _ about you.”

George raised his eyebrows, “there are a  _ lot _ that are about me.”

“Not  _ directly _ about you, most of them, just… you were on my mind, and it linked in.” Matty gestured vaguely with his hand in an attempt to further elaborate on what he was saying - it wasn’t particularly successful, but George got the picture regardless.

“So I’m on your mind a lot?” George continued, not even bothering to hide the smirk that was growing on his face.

“Yeah…” Matty trailed off, cheeks growing redder, “something like that.”

They sat in silence for a minute or so after that: Matty’s red face hidden behind his hands, and the smile upon George’s in plain view. It was George that broke the silence, his mind fixated back on the conversation of a few minutes ago, “so you said you don’t know who you want us to be?”

“Yeah…?” Matty gave a nod, gingerly pulling his hands away from his face to look at George as he was speaking to him.

“Well…” George exhaled, running his next words through his head for the tenth time, because he had to be careful, because this really did  _ matter _ . “I think I know what I want us to be. Or at least an idea…” He trailed off, looking to Matty before continuing.

“What is it?” Matty prompted for him to continue: unable to hide the way his voice began to crack and shake slightly.

“I think, well, I want us to have something again. Like in December, but not like then.  _ Different _ . You know what I  _ mean _ .” George took a moment to catch his breath. “We need to talk about things though, and take it slowly, and have like boundaries and shit, like no kissing girls at parties. Like, no kissing other people, it’s a  _ thing _ , but it’s not like boyfriends or anything yet, we should try things out first, take it slowly, do it properly.” George turned to Matty. “What do you think? If you don’t want to then that’s fine, of course - what you want is what’s important.”

Matty was too busy trying to remember how to breathe again after George had said the word ‘boyfriends’ to respond quite yet, but after thirty seconds or so, he got there: voice quiet and jittery. “I want that too.”

George smiled more than he probably had before in his entire life. “Well that’s good because that would probably be pretty awkward if you said no.”

Matty snorted, rolling his eyes at George. “You’ve spent the last hour reading my sappy love poems I’ve written about you for the past six months and you’re worried that I don’t like you back?”

“You were the one who was like ‘I don’t know what I want’ just two minutes ago!” George exclaimed: voice suddenly growing louder as he attempted to defend himself.

Matty laughed, “I was only saying that because I didn’t want to say it first.” It was now George’s turn to roll his eyes. “Fuck off, I get nervous.”

“But you’re not anymore?” George noted, because well Matty’s whole demeanour changed from one extreme to the next in a matter seconds.

“No.” Matty admitted, biting at his lip, “I’m not entirely sure why, I don’t know, maybe it’s the whole…  _ talking about it _ thing, I mean, how much worse could it get. Or maybe if you can say the word ‘boyfriends’ then I can chill out a bit.”

George laughed. “Boyfriends.” He repeated, looking at Matty to watch his reaction, “come on, why does that affect you?”

Matty shrugged, “I don’t know, I feel like it’s naturally something that makes me nervous, the whole… I don’t know… heteronormativity bullshit and how you know this would be so different if I was a girl or something. Like I said before.”

“It shouldn’t affect you.” George told him, watching him with concern in his eyes.

“I know.” Matty nodded, “it’s like how I shouldn’t freak out when you leave me alone in Tesco for a minute, but I just  _ do _ . I want those things to change though, I want things to get better, be how I was confident before, last year, and we could go out to parties and shit.”

George pulled Matty into his chest then. “Fuck, you can do it, you know? Honestly, it’s hard for you, but it is going to be alright, promise.”

“Yeah.” Matty smiled into George’s chest, “I know.”

“And you’re going to let me, and other people help you?” He asked, holding his breath as he awaited Matty’s response.

“Yeah.” Matty nodded, biting his lip, “you need to do like most of the talking for me, though, because I’m not very good at talking to people, especially not about things that mattered, and I haven’t written six months worth of sappy poetry about how I freak out on my own in Tesco after a minute.”

“It’s not sappy.” George told him, watching as Matty pulled away and sat down facing him. “It’s not.” He insisted, despite the doubtful expression upon Matty’s face. “I’d want to read the rest of it, you know? If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“Yeah.” Matty nodded, biting his lip, “later, I mean, there’s a lot of it, and it’s getting late now. And we need to talk this thing through for a minute, so like… no kissing anyone else or like other things than kissing,” George nodded and waited for Matty to continue, “and you totally have to make me coffee like every morning, because that’s a cute thing.”

George rolled his eyes, “alright. And like, we have to be open and talk about things with each other, like  _ properly _ .” Matty nodded, meaning it this time. “And we should probably talk about this with Ross and Hann, you know? I’ll do the talking if you want.”

“Yeah.” Matty gave a nod. “Honestly, what do you think they’ll react like? I mean, would you have seen this coming? Our weird gay thing? Would that make things weird for them, do you think? Like if we’re just hanging out and you kiss me or something?”

“It’s not weird.” George shook his head, “and come on, when have they even been vaguely homophobic once? Honestly, I think Ross is just going to shit himself over the fact that you want to leave the house again.”

“I’m shitting myself over the fact that I want to leave the house again.” Matty admitted, laughing a little.

“Wait…” George met Matty with a look that had him just that little bit nervous. “So you’re saying that you want me to kiss you just casually, when we’re hanging out with other people?”

“Yeah.” Matty nodded: face turning a horrible shade of red. “And when we’re alone as well, that’s good, you know? Probably even better.”

“Is it?” George raised his eyebrows, grabbing Matty by the hand and pulling him in closer before he could respond, before taking a second just to  _ breathe _ and  _ kissing _ him.

And then Matty promptly died.

Well not really, it just kind of felt like it.

“So…” George let out a laugh as he pulled away. “This is a _ thing _ .” 

“It is.” Matty let out a giggle, falling back across George’s lap and just gazing up at the ceiling for a moment. “I missed kissing you, you know? It was only once months ago, but it’s still a  _ thing _ .”

“A thing.” George repeated, following Matty’s line of sight up to the ceiling. “I like kissing you too.” He admitted, somewhat quieter, and much more to the silence of the room.

Matty couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that’s good, because if you found that you really didn’t like kissing me then it might make things a bit awkward again, don’t you think?”

George rolled his eyes, “shut up,” but really, he couldn’t help but smile either.

“I’m tired.” Matty announced after a minute or so: eyes still fixated on the ceiling.

George gave a nod of agreement. “You should go to bed, then.”

Matty shook his head, “don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll come with you.” George found that he’d spoken before he could really think about it. “If you want. I mean, you do have a double bed, and I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa.”

“And you’ll stay?” Matty asked, voice tentative suddenly quiet again.

“Course.” George smiled, “come on, we all know you got the better bedroom anyway.”

“So this is what you’re really doing…” Matty shook his head in mock disbelief. “You just want the good bedroom.”

“Totally.” George grinned at him before getting up from the sofa, and pulling Matty up by his hand, “come on, sleepy head.”

“Don’t you dare call me that again.” Matty groaned, letting George practically drag him off the sofa.

“Alright, whatever you say, sleepy head.” George laughed, ruffling Matty’s hair as they walked into his bedroom.

“I hate you. I really do.” Matty insisted, even going as far as to glare up at George as he said so, but in reality, Matty had never said anything that he’d meant  _ less _ .

-


	6. did i even mention that I'm really bad at coming up with chapter titles

Matty found himself awake at half past five that morning: at first, pulled awake by the cold chill coming in through the window, and the way that George had stolen most of the blankets.

_ George _ . George, who lay asleep in the bed beside him - it was that which kept him awake - that which kept his mind fixated, and his heart thudding in his chest, quickly pulling the rest of his body and mind into gear, as he continued to lay there, no longer quite so cold, but  _ frozen _ \- unable to move, pinned down against the mattress, beside the uncontrollably shaking sensation in his legs.

He let out a gasp of breath: cold air cutting into his lungs like shards of ice, because as he lay there, to breathe, to live felt like to die. He needed to get up, he’d needed to remember how the fuck to move, to get out of there whilst he was still alive, and rejoin reality perhaps forty five minutes later with his head spinning against the hard tiled bathroom floor.

He didn’t want to admit that it was George that held him there, still in bed, but there was no way around the fact that he was. He didn’t want to admit that, he didn’t want to let himself blame George for the way his own fucked up head worked, for the way he only ever could see the worst in things, and how, all of a sudden, the comfort he’d found in George and coming to terms with one another felt like fucking poison, because it was different this time around, this was his own room, this was his own space, for him to wake up early and destroy his whole world in his own company.

Because he wanted to leave, he wanted to lock himself away and break out in a fit of tears, but it was George’s presence in the bed beside him that kept him there, almost tied down, trapped inside himself, but of course, that didn’t put an end to the way he felt inside, and in fact, things only seemed to get worse as they lay hidden inside himself: growing too large for the parts of his head in which they were kept, and growing close to consuming his whole mind.

And there was a part of Matty that was very prepared to lie back and let that happen - let the whole world crash over him, let the darkest corners of his mind consume his own being, and resorted to sitting in corners of rooms for hours, and locking doors behind him even if there wasn’t anyone on the other side. And he knew that was what he would have done just a week ago, and as he had done many times previously, as he’d spent the past four months in the same kind of state, subdued mostly, but always there, always ready to pull him down to the deepest, darkest corners of himself.

And if Matty was being honest with himself, the only thing that kept him from just letting those feelings drown out and destroy every hopeful part of himself, was George, beside him in bed, as in this case, he was the root of the problem, yet also part of the solution. Along with George himself, it was the promise he’d made and how hopeful they’d seemed last night as Matty laid every part of himself out before him, and pulled himself together to the extent where he found himself comfortable with the notion of going out and talking to people again, and maybe he had last night, but he found himself unable to keep that promise even through to the sunrise, and when morning really became morning.

That side of himself was okay - that was the Matty that had everything together, that had hours to think over the world, and think of the worst possible outcome and finally come to conclude that the choice he was making wasn’t nearly as bad. That side of him was okay, but forced, not as it seemed, and that side of him was perhaps only available for a couple of hours a day.

It was the rest of Matty that wasn’t - the side of Matty that found himself waking up in the early hours of the morning, suddenly unable to breathe, jumping to regret every decision he had ever made with a dozen invisible hands squeezing tight around his windpipe and a dozen more wrapped tightly around his legs, holding him down to the bed.

He needed to breathe.

That was the first thing he needed, and something he couldn’t deny - he  _ needed _ to breathe, but with the way he lay, it was almost as if he’d forgotten how, almost as if every part of his mind had faded away, and everything he’d ever known faded out into nothingness in comparison to the sheer scale and power held in the heavy thudding of his heart in his chest.

But he  _ needed _ to breathe.

It was perhaps only reflex and natural instinct that brought his lungs back into action, and his body suddenly shaking all over, as he seemed to regain control of his legs, and pulled himself into a sitting position, with his legs pulled up against his chest.

He tried not to think about anything, which was of course impossible, but not to dwell on the way the whole room seemed to be crowding in on him, and the way every cell in his body seemed to be working against him, and how he felt as if he was drowning within the worst thoughts held in the deepest corners of his mind, and the way that he could feel George breathing just centimetres away from him seemed to cut right into his skin, because he just couldn’t let him see him in  _ such _ a state, because George had seen him through the world, but never anything as bad as this. It wasn’t that Matty didn’t  _ trust _ George, because he did, he just didn’t want him to know - he didn’t want him to think it was this bad, that he was this bad. He didn’t want George to have to deal with that, and he didn’t want it drive George away again.

He managed to push everything away for just long enough to take three deep breaths, focusing only on the matter of breathing deeply and putting oxygen back into his body, and praying to God that’d make it better somehow, although it didn’t at all, because the first thing Matty did by the time he could breathe was  _ cry _ .

It was an ugly cry: coming out instantaneously in great shaky choked breaths, with tears streaming down his face and blurring his vision until the whole world around him seemed to fade out.  There was, however, something he found in crying - it was something to do, something to focus in on, something else to consume his whole being, and let everything else fade out around him, as he mind reduced to solely the work taken in retaining a steady intake of breath through frantic sobs and the choking sensation at the back of his throat. 

He found himself getting somewhat lost within it, and came to lose himself within the act of it all to the extent that he wasn’t at all sure how long he’d been crying for, but it was suddenly difficult to bring him back to a moment when he wasn’t, and there was a slight concern crossing his mind, worrying whether he’d ever be able to stop, but the thing was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to, because if he did, if he opened his eyes, if he’d tried to breathe, he’d have to try to face the world, face George in the bed beside him, put himself back together and try to pretend, and he much prefered the dull ache in his chest and the way his whole body seemed to go numb.

“Matty?” 

Before Matty could quite comprehend the sound of George’s voice and just what that meant, and just what state he was in, and just what George could be thinking, George reached his arms around him and pulled him into his chest. Matty let him, largely on the grounds that he wasn’t sure quite what else to do, and whether he was at all capable of anything in that moment.

He found himself continuing to cry, now just against George’s chest, which Matty couldn’t help but feel was uncomfortable for the both of them, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to stop, and continued to do so for a good few minutes: the warmth of George’s chest seemed to kickstart the part of his head that had forgotten he was alive, and suddenly time seemed to pass at a normal rate again, and the moment and what had led him there seemed to come back to him.

George remained silent, resorting to holding Matty so close to him that he felt like he might snap in his arms, but there was just this part of him that perhaps didn’t seem to mind the idea of that at all. Matty came to wonder if George was waiting for him to say something, to explain himself, or to stop crying, or if George himself was simply unsure of what to do and what to say. Really, Matty couldn’t blame him, because he didn’t ask for this; he likely didn’t even ask to wake up, and part of Matty wished George could have slept through this all, but the rest of him knew that he  _ needed _ George to get him out of this state, because it became rather quickly apparent that he was the only one who ever could.

He didn’t know how to feel about that, about that level of co-dependency, and the state he was dragging George down into, and whether George really wanted to or not, because Matty couldn’t shake the feeling that George only wanted the good side of him - the Matty that promised to put his life back together again, and not the one that woke up early to single handedly tear it all apart once more.

Matty finally pulled his face away from George, rubbing his eyes with his hands, and trying just to look him in the eye, because as simple as it sounded, when it actually came down to it, it was nowhere near as simple. George had this heartbreaking kind of concerned look in his eyes, like the whole act of waking up to Matty crying had him hurting  just as much as Matty was, and if Matty wanted to prevent anything it was ever hurting George, because there was no way around the fact that he just didn’t  _ deserve _ to deal with this, and Matty didn’t want to him to ever feel as if he did.

“I’m sorry.” Matty choked out, pulling his gaze away from George, and burying himself back against his chest, slotting his body between his legs, and closing his eyes, trying not to cry; he felt stupid, he felt pathetic, and he knew that George didn’t want to have to deal with it.

“Why are you sorry?” George asked, his voice gentle and barely more than a whisper, as he leaned into Matty’s touch, and pulled his arms around him. “It’s not your fault. Nothing’s your fault.”

Matty shook his head, “don’t be stupid, don’t tell me shit that we know isn’t true.” He bit his lip and took another moment just to breathe. “I’m sorry - I woke you up.”

“You should have woken me up.” George’s response was instant and almost agitated: his tone sharper than before, which had Matty slightly on edge. “I would never want to be sleeping when you’re crying next to me. Fuck.  _ I’m  _ sorry that I didn’t wake up sooner.”

“Don’t fucking apologise because I’m a fucking mess.” Matty grew close to snapping at him but ended up laughing at himself instead, because he couldn’t be angry at George - it was anything  _ but _ his fault. “I just… I woke up, and I fucking… I don’t know, I just couldn’t breathe, and I felt like I couldn’t move, and it makes me sound like a fucking dick, because I suddenly got so scared that you were next to me, because I couldn’t be alone, and I needed to be alone, and then I wanted to get up but it was as if I really couldn’t move, and I just… it was nothing really - I fucking freaked out over nothing.”

“It’s not your fault.” George assured him: tone stern, as he curled his fingers around Matty’s wrist. “Don’t you dare ever think that it was your fault. Sometimes we overreact to things, come on, Matty-”

“It’s not just sometimes, though.” Matty let out a sigh, “this happens a lot. Like all the time, I end up like this, and I just can’t deal with you seeing me like this, because it makes me feel worse, because it’s fucking embarrassing that I can’t cope with myself, you know? It  _ is _ my fault.”

“It’s not.” George promised, letting out a sigh, “how often does it happen? Come on, talk to me about it,  _ please _ . I want to help, even if you don’t think I can, I want to try.”

“You can’t.” Matty shook his head, dismissing George’s words almost instantaneously.

George sighed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the top of Matty’s head, causing him to jump slightly, turning up to face him with an inquiring look upon his face. 

George only met him with a stern glance, and a promise: “I’m going to try.”

-

Matty wasn’t entirely sure why he had pretended. Pretended to be annoyed, that is - when George had insisted that he get out of bed and take a shower, when George had only been trying to help him, because Matty knew as much as George did, there were just some very simple things that he failed to do without being told to.

He guessed that he just didn’t like that part of himself, and his dislike of it was held hand in hand with his dislike of other people acknowledging it, especially people like George, because people like George were the people that Matty was trying so desperately hard to win the affection of. Now, at least, in George’s case, Matty had to remind himself that George had made a promise and they’d come to an agreement this time around, and that he shouldn’t fear of waking up one day alone for him never to return. It was just that no matter how much he reminded himself of this, he could never shake the notion at the back of his mind that one day he’d ruin everything in the end.

The truth of it all, however, was the fact that Matty was grateful - grateful to have George, and grateful that George wanted to help him, that George thought and cared enough and knew him well enough to know exactly what kind of help he needed. Matty knew that he was in no position to push that away, especially not in the way he had.

George didn’t seem too upset about it - it hadn’t been too bad, but he’d been rude, he’d been snappy, and so very desperate to push George away and deny every unpleasant notion in regards to himself, even as he knew them more than anyone else, to be so very true.

The thing was that George knew him, and knew that he didn’t mean it, knew that he was just scared of himself, hidden away, scared of emotion and other people, and uninclined to do much other than waste away the best part of a day in bed. And Matty could swear a thousand times that he hated how George seemed to always know what was going on his mind, but upon not one of those thousand occasions would Matty find that he’d ever really meant it.

It didn’t matter for much - in the scheme of things, especially, but it made quite the point out of plaguing his head as he showered, and Matty reckoned that had to mean something.

He spent too long in the shower: too long thinking, too long wasting away on the back of his own thoughts, and too long letting himself, but it was just the way that you gradually became accustomed to the heat of the water against your skin, and lead you scared to face the cold air of the house without it, but of course, the air had never been cold in the first place - it was just perspective, just the water and getting used to the worst kind of things. He’d spent perhaps the last four months under the same kind of water, and was forever just so desperate to retreat back into the kind of situations that would never fear him well, because perhaps, in all honesty, Matty did never know what was best for him.

The act of just turning the water off seemed to command itself as something of importance, something to make him quiver, something to have him dancing around the possibility of it and the outcomes that would follow. Water, however, was just water, and Matty was just overthinking, again, lost up in his own head.

It took him to really accept that - accept that and reject it once more - before he did indeed turn the water off and allow himself to stand there in the bathroom: arms naturally curled up around himself as if to hide his own skin from his reflection in the mirror.

He began to shiver, legs buckling slightly as he pulled himself together and stepped across the bathroom floor, taking himself across to the mirror, and wiping the condensation off the glass with his one shaking, almost ghostly white hand. It was as the glass was wiped clean, he began to regret ever doing so, for he’d always known that he wasn’t exactly in the best of states and that it definitely transferred to his face, but knowing something was something else to really  _ seeing _ it.

It had been subconscious, but Matty had definitely gone out of his way to avoid mirrors and the matter of his own reflection for quite a while now, and he found himself just a little unsure what to do under the weight held by his own gaze. His reflection seemed to regard him with distaste, concern, an odd kind of disbelief as his own eyes raked over his cheeks, noting the way the colour had drained from them, as it had from all parts of his face.

He came to part his lips, which seemed almost unnaturally red in juxtaposition to the pale tones of his skin that seemed to dance rather dangerously around the notion of lifelessness, watching as a small cloud of his breath escaped and condensed upon the mirror before him. He held his mouth open for a while after that, as if on the verge of saying something to himself, to his reflection, to the Matty behind the mirror, who seemed very similar, but by no means the same.

It was only as Matty gave up and came to close his lips once more that he finally found the words skipping past his lips and out against the glass of the mirror. “I need to get better.” 

His tone was only just audible, not even required to be aloud, but there was just something else about  _ speaking _ the words - something about uttering the words with conviction, making a promise to the cold, hopeless eyes that met him in the mirror: the eyes that seemed to argue and beg against the words that left his lips, but the eyes he vowed that would brighten within time, because it was only ever a matter of time until the sun slid out from behind the clouds again.

“I’m going to get better.” It was this time that his reflection seemed to meet the words with recognition, as if they really did mean something, as this time around the conviction and promise behind the words was held not just on his tongue, but also within his heart. That was made clear in the gentle ascent of a smile to his lips, and the way the colour seemed to flood to his cheeks once more, and the cold air of the bathroom didn’t seem so cold anymore.

-

George had began to prepare the two of them some form of breakfast the moment he’d heard the water being turned off. He found that he wasn’t at all sure what Matty would ask to have, but he knew largely that he didn’t exactly mind - it wasn’t that he had no preference, or that he’d eat whatever regardless of dislike and opinion. It was just that, for Matty, in the act of George making breakfast for him, George would always be more important than the breakfast.

He ended up making them toast, because being wholly honest with himself, cooking was really not where George excelled, but he had to admit that he’d put his life into those slices of toast, well, as much life as you really could put into a few slices of toast, which wasn’t a lot really, but it was all you could. 

The minutes seemed to drag on in waiting for Matty, and George couldn’t help but rub his eyes and yawn a little, because as reluctant as he was to ever blame him, there was no way around the fact that the only reason he was up and making breakfast was because Matty had been crying in the middle of the night. Of course, Matty mattered much more than a few extra hours of sleep, but he just couldn’t help but think about how much he hated being tired at work, and that there really wasn’t an opportunity to get anymore sleep in the next few hours until his shift started.

George came to debate lying and calling in sick, more for the sake of keeping Matty company than for the sake of his own well being, by the time Matty finally walked into the kitchen, wearing a grey jumper that was far too big for him, and one that George instantly recognised as his own.

“Hey,” Matty gave a nod in George’s direction, pulling a smile over his lips as he rolled up the sleeves of the jumper, well  _ George’s _ jumper, for the third time since he’d walked into the room. “You made breakfast.” He noted, eyes fixated upon the table.

George grinned, letting out an odd half-hearted attempt at a laugh, before taking a seat at the table, and meeting Matty’s eyes. “You stole my jumper.”

Matty couldn’t help but blush as he sat down opposite him, finding that he had to roll the sleeves up for the fourth time as he did so; George seemed to notice, letting out an amused snort in response. “I wouldn’t say  _ stole _ .” Matty leaned back in his chair, watching as the sleeves slipped down again, reaching way past his hands, and choosing just to give up this time. “Borrow, I think is more accurate.”

“Alright.” George gave a nod, eyebrows raised as he watched Matty struggle with the sleeves once more. He found himself on the verge of saying something, something clever or something funny - anything like that, but resorted to eating his breakfast instead.

“Your sleeves are shit.” Matty came to comment as he gave up again, leaning back, crossing his arms across his chest, and even going as far as to pout a little.

George raised his eyebrows, wondering if he should even bother with pretending to be offended. “Are they, now?” He let a grin fall over his lips as he took a sip of his drink. “Why did you decide to wear my clothes then?”

There was no avoiding the way that Matty’s cheeks instantly turned quite the wonderful shade of vermillion red. He coughed a little, resting his arms onto the table, and half cupping, half hiding his face in his hands, began to splutter out an excuse, “couldn’t find anything of mine.”

George knew it was a lie. Matty knew it was a lie. And indeed, Matty’s face made that just as obvious as George’s did - complete with the perfect rendition of skepticism. “I don’t mind.” George’s tone softened as his face fell into a smile, “honestly, it’s kind of cute.”

Matty was unable to avoid his blush once more, and spent a good thirty seconds with his head buried in his hands, before he came to utter any form of response. “It smells like you.”

“Course it does.” George’s tone remained rather gentle, not in light of treading carefully around Matty, but in reflection of the way his heart seemed to cease beating around him, choosing instead to sprout wings and flutter about in his chest.

Matty smiled, “I like that,” he admitted, smile becoming a grin, “I like  _ you _ .”

“I like you too.” George assured him, because as much as he felt that it wasn’t something he needed to confirm, he knew that Matty would feel better with that sort of reassurance.

“Even though I woke you up at five in the morning?” Matty raised his eyebrows, twirling a strand of hair around his index finger.

“Course.” George’s reply was instant. “That wasn’t a  _ bad _ thing, you know? I’m not upset about it, I’m only upset because I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Matty nodded, pressing his teeth into his bottom lip as he thought back just around an hour or so ago, and struggled to imagine how to possibly explain it properly to George, because although George made no attempt to insist that Matty explained a single thing to him, Matty knew that it was something he should just  _ do _ .

“Sometimes…” Matty began, sitting up again, pulling his arms in and his legs closer together. He paused for a moment, looking away from George and focusing his attention upon the mug of coffee George had made him, watching the way the steam floated away into the air: fading away almost instantly. “Sometimes it happens, like… the whole  _ crying _ thing, because that wasn’t just crying, really, I mean it was crying, but I don’t know  _ entirely _ what caused it, and honestly I’m never really sure, but it just happens. It’s just… I get into a state, but it’s like… sort of physical as well, I don’t know if that’s just me overreacting or something, but I end up not being able to breathe, and it’s just overwhelming, like every part of me is destroyed suddenly, because there’s just this overwhelming feeling of unease, that’s not  _ fear _ , really, it’s just sort of… it’s like suddenly my body’s decided that breathing, that sitting there alive is this deadly unknown thing it has to fight off. Except it’s not, because it’s in my head, but… I can’t stop it really. It just  _ happens _ , and I mean, it ends after a while.” Matty paused, not daring to meet George’s gaze. “Everything ends after a while.”

As Matty fell into silence: eyes distant and looking anywhere but at George across the table, George reached out and grasped Matty’s wrist, pulling his arm away from where he’d curled it up before himself, and slotted his fingers between Matty’s, and resting their hands across the table. He’d expected Matty to react in one way or another, but as seconds ticked by, Matty remained quiet, distant, but pliant: fingers moulding into George’s touch without resistance.

George suspected that he was supposed to say something, or at least that Matty expected it of him, but in all truth, he wasn’t sure quite what to say, because Matty had been right in the fact that George hadn’t the slightest clue how to fix what what had broken up in his head, but George certainly knew how to comfort Matty, and the way his head worked - able to imagine every conclusion it might jump to, and able to pull him back out of that kind of mess.

In the end, George found himself reaching for Matty’s other hand, and with both hands held across the table, Matty eventually shifted so his eyeline met George’s. There was a dullness to Matty’s eyes: the many shades of brown seemed to fizzle out into the same dull, grey tone, and he made it very clear with sealed lips that he was waiting on George to say something.

“I’m sorry.” What was every thought that had raced through George’s mind in the past two minutes had boiled down to. Matty looked up at him: eyebrows raised slightly, urging for there just to be something more to it. “You’re not supposed to feel like that, you know.” He added, unsure what it was that he was  _ supposed _ to say, because there were a million things urging to slip between George’s lips, but there was quite the difference between what he wanted to say and what he  _ should _ .

“I know.” Matty nodded, his gaze slipping down to the way that their hands were linked across the table. “I can’t help it. Just how my brain works, isn’t it?”

“It was never like that before, though.” George added, treading so very carefully around the subject, because there was just no doubt in either of the two’s minds that George had very little idea as to just what he was talking about. Yet, despite knowing that, it had been George that Matty had found himself admitting this to, and that meant one hell of a something.

“Never as bad.” Matty corrected him, unable to ignore the way George’s hands shook slightly against his in response. “It was manageable before. I mean… I was always kind of prone to thinking over things until it killed me, and letting myself get into states, but then it got worse, it just all stopped being manageable, I guess.”

“It’s my fault.” George told him, biting at his lip, not even wanting to hear Matty insist that it wasn’t, because this time there was no denying the fact that to a certain degree, it definitely was. “It was manageable because you had people there, because you had  _ me _ there. You calmed down after I woke up earlier. You need people there, and then you were alone for so long.”

Matty wanted to argue against him; the idea painted him in such a horrible light, because it wasn’t like he was incapable of looking after himself, but then again, Matty couldn’t ignore the fact, that whichever way he approached it, George just wasn’t wrong. George was just  _ George _ , and that meant more than Matty was sure how to express.

“Wake me up next time.” George found himself willingly filling the silence this time around, squeezing at Matty’s hands to get his attention. “Promise me, wake me up next time. When it happens again, come and find me, let me help you.” George just found himself trying not to think about what Matty was supposed to do when George was at work.

Matty was hesitant at first, but eventually gave him a nod, and a quick, “I promise.” He glanced up at George before pulling his hands away and taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Would you kill me if I suggested that talking to Ross about it would be a bad idea?” George asked, finishing his own breakfast as Matty seemed intent upon hiding his face away behind his coffee mug forever.

Matty paused for a moment, placing his mug back down onto the table, before meeting George’s eyes. “No.”

George nodded, leaning forward slightly, and just  _ looking _ at Matty for a moment or two: watching the way his hair fell into his eyes every so often, and the way he’d spilt coffee on the end of those ridiculously long sleeves of George’s jumper (ridiculously long on Matty at least), and how George just couldn’t get himself to mind at all.

“Would you listen to me if I asked you to talk to Ross about it?” He came to change his question eventually, seeming to catch Matty a little off guard in doing so.

Matty sat there and thought for a moment, because it was a very yes or no kind of question, and he found himself so very uncomfortable at the thought of confrontation, especially regarding Ross, because it was so much different when it came to talking George as opposed to anybody else. He just knew however that George had this time, not only his heart, but his head in the right place with his suggestion.

“Yeah.” He eventually gave a nod. “Need to talk to him anyway, really.” Matty began to twirl a strand of hair around his finger. “Properly, you know.”

“Yeah…” George trailed off, biting his lip, “I’ve got to go to work today, and… I really, I don’t know, don’t be upset, I don’t want to leave you alone-”

“So you want Ross to come babysit me?” Matty snorted, looking up at George in disbelief.

“ _ Matty _ -” George let out a sigh, worried that Matty had taken it all in entirely the wrong way, and that this would lead to some sort of fight or something. “I, you know that’s not what I-”

“It’s fine.” Matty assured him, letting out an awkward kind of laugh in response. “You’re right, you know? I need someone, and I need to talk to him, I need to talk to people again, like  _ fix _ things, properly.”

“Then why did you give me that kind of  _ look _ , like the one you have when you’re offended and about to throw a fit over nothing?” George grinned across at him: expression somewhat challenging.

“I did not.” Matty exclaimed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t upset, come on, I didn’t even do that face, I- you know what? This is  _ bullying _ .”

George fell into a fit of laughter, “is it now?”

“Yeah.” Matty insisted, pulling on a pout as he got up from the table and made his way over to George. “It is.” He insisted, leaning back against the table and looking down at George, who was still sat in his chair.

“You don’t seem all that upset.” George smirked, reaching for Matty’s hand once more as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re bad at pretending to be annoyed, you know? You just end up all pouty and adorable.”

“Aren’t I always?” Matty grinned, leaning down and pressing his lips against George’s. The whole act was so very spur of the moment, but oddly subconscious on Matty’s part - it just felt natural, more than anything else, and it didn’t strike him that maybe just kissing George out of nowhere was something he should  _ think _ about doing until he’d already pulled away.

It appeared that George was finding it impossible to stop himself from smiling, as his grin seemed almost glued to his lips, as he continued to stare up at Matty. “You know, I don’t even care that it’s barely just past seven in the morning if you promise to do that more often.”

Matty giggled: a stupid fucking insanely feminine kind of giggle that had his cheeks burning up, and him moving away from George just to hide his face. “I’m just such an insanely attractive and talented kisser.”

“Talented kisser.” George snorted, regarding Matty with little more than disbelief as he cleared away the mess George had made whilst preparing breakfast. “ _ Okay _ .”

“You didn’t say anything about insanely attractive.” Matty turned back to face him, smirking and pouting slightly. “And I don’t know why you’re kissing me if I’m so  _ terrible _ . I think you’re lying.”

“Shit.” George shook his head, grinning, “you’ve found me out. What am I going to do now?”

“I don’t know…” Matty rolled his eyes, “maybe help clean up the mess you made making breakfast, how about that, George?”

“Well, aren’t you quite the housewife?” George scoffed, getting up from the table and bringing their empty plates over to the sink.

“You could actually wash them up instead of just putting them in the sink, you know?” Matty suggested, leaning over to watch George just place the cutlery in the sink. “Just a suggestion.” He looked up at George with a smirk.

George rolled his eyes slightly, pulling Matty into his side with his arm. “I  _ could _ .” He gave a nod in agreement, “doesn’t mean I’m going to, though.”

“You shouldn’t let the dishes pile up, George, I thought you’d know that.” Matty shook his head in disbelief, tucking the stray strands of hair behind his shoulders, before turning the kitchen tap on and picking up the bottle of washing up liquid from the side and thrusting it into George’s hands.

George snorted, taking the bottle rather unwillingly, before looking between the dishes and Matty. “I’ll do it later, calm down.”

“No.” Matty insisted, shaking his head very firmly, which took George just a little by surprise, “how can I sort my life out in a dirty environment? You better do the washing up.” George let out a groan, leaning reluctantly back into Matty. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve got to feed Allen, I have  _ things _ to do. I have to text Ross, as well.”

“At seven a.m.?” George snorted, knowing very well that wasn’t an idea that Ross was going to particularly like.

“Look, he’s going to have a heart attack at the fact that I’m initiating contact and conversation with him anyway, so it doesn’t really matter if I put it off an hour or so, does it?” Matty rolled his eyes, reaching up into the cupboard to his right, and grabbing a washing up sponge, which he placed down in the sink before George.

“He’s going to be really happy, you know?” George’s tone grew quieter, staring down at the sponge as he spoke, “that you’re trying again. Everyone will be. We’ve missed you, you know? I want things to be good again.”

Matty stood there for a moment, smiling, “they  _ will _ .” He promised George, giving him a slight nudge as he did so, “anyway, you’ve got some dishes to wash, haven’t you?”

“You’re such a housewife.” George shook his head in disbelief.

“I think you mean environment conscious, lovely, beautiful, clean, kind, pretty, amazing person.” Matty corrected him, grabbing at George’s arm and pulling him down slightly as he rose up onto his tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t you?”

George blushed, nodding, “yeah, something like that.”

-

It was in the ten minutes that Matty sat alone in the living room, well not alone, he was with Allen, but it was the ten minutes that he spent without George, who’d made quite the point out of sticking to Matty’s side following the events that had occurred earlier. It was in those ten minutes that Ross came to reply to the text Matty had sent him almost two hours ago now.

It caught Matty by surprise, as he’d been quite content in sitting on the sofa with Allen curled up in his lap and the TV on low in the background, and as of course, as George had warned him, Ross wouldn’t take this without much of a reaction, and it certainly wasn’t one response that Matty received, but sixteen in the space of little more than a minute.

He sat there for a moment, just letting his phone vibrate into the palm of his hand as Ross asked seemingly every question that could possibly relate to the one message that Matty had sent him. Eventually, Ross just called him, and Matty agreed that was probably for the best, despite how little he liked talking on the phone.

“Hey,” Matty began, running one hand over Allen’s fur as he spoke.

“Matty!” Ross seemed to scream at him down the phoneline, and Matty couldn’t help but laugh a little in response.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows a little, “it’s me - I mean, who else do you think would be texting you from my phone?”

Ross paused for a moment before he gave his response: pondering over the situation at hand, and how the world had come to present itself to him in the way that he had least expected. “I did wonder if it was George, if something had happened to you and that’s why he wanted me to come over.”

“George has his own phone.” Matty told him rather bluntly, trying not to think about what that ‘something’ that Ross had thought of might have been, because as much as he wanted to know exactly how everyone thought of him, he’d give anything to stay oblivious to the way he was perceived.

“Yeah,” Ross trailed off for a moment, “could have run out of battery or something.” He paused once more, but it was a silence that Matty found very little comfort in, and in reflection of that, the movement of his fingers against Allen’s fur grew suddenly faster. “So you want me to come over?”

“Yeah.” Matty assured him, “and although it was George’s idea, it’s me that wants it, not just him. George isn’t even here forcing me to call you. Not that he’d force me to do something if I didn’t want to, but… you know.”

Ross didn’t reply for a good twenty seconds, which did wonders for Matty’s tendency to jump to illogical conclusions, but when he did, it was quite the emotive response. “You’re  _ listening _ to George now? Like you’re talking? You’re happy about the fact that he exists and lives with you, or even just content, because I thought I was confused before, and now I’m just more confused. Matty, you haven’t been anything but reluctant to talk to me for four months and now you’re- it’s a  _ good _ thing, I promise you that, but I’m shocked and confused, and grateful, and-”

“That’s why I want you to come over, I need to tell you about everything.” Matty bit his lip, trying not to think about just how Ross could possibly react. “I want to sort myself out. Have a life again, you know? I don’t miss how things used to be, but I miss the way I used to feel and the things I used to do.”

“Did you and George talk about things?” Ross asked, unable to stop himself from smiling, because it had almost gotten to the point where he’d contemplated accepting defeat in regards to getting Matty to open up to people again, for once, he found himself very happy to be mistaken.

“Yeah.” Matty couldn’t help but blush, and then at the notion of Ross finding out exactly what they had spoken about only made him blush further. “I’m alright now, I think.”

“So I was right that George living with you again would be good for you, wasn’t I?”

Matty rolled his eyes, but accepted that he just had to give Ross that one. “Yeah, fine, whatever, you were.”

-

Matty found himself alone in the house for little more than fifteen minutes. He’d spent the fifteen minutes, between George kissing him before he’d left for work and Ross finally arriving and letting himself in with the key that Matty sincerely regretted giving him, sending George at least a hundred pictures of Allen on Snapchat, despite how little time it had been since they’d both spoken and seen Allen.

Matty was coming to wonder if he was just a bit of a hopeless romantic. Or just needy. Or just pathetic. Or co-dependent. Or in love with George. Or something like that. Or perhaps he was all of those things, and perhaps there was just nothing inherently bad about that, as everything was just based on perspective and situation, after all.

Matty found himself in the middle of sending George a picture of Allen with the dog filter, (because that was necessary, of course) when Ross let himself in and made his way down the hallway and into the living room. Matty finished sending the picture before he made any attempt to acknowledge Ross’ existence, which was probably a little rude, but he did have priorities, you know.

“Hey,” Matty hit him with a grin: overgrown and ridiculous, and doing quite the job of contrasting the Matty which Ross had found himself so familiar with over the past few months. “Sorry I was sending George a picture of Allen.” He held up his phone briefly, before sliding it across the coffee table.

As Matty looked back up to face Ross, he found that his face was quite the poster for disbelief itself: all raised eyebrows and mouth hanging slightly open. “It’s fine.” Ross assured him, standing still for a moment as he found himself stumped as to what could have possibly seemingly entirely transformed Matty in the space of little more than a week or so.

“Oh, uh…” Matty gestured with his hands, clicking his fingers frantically as he struggled to recall just what had slipped his mind. “Do you want a drink?” He nodded at Ross, having remembered just what he was supposed to ask people when they came over. “Like a coffee or something?”

“Yeah.” Ross nodded, a little taken aback by the fact that Matty had offered him, “yeah, coffee is good.”

Matty shot him a grin, and got up from the sofa, leading Ross into the kitchen and busying himself with selecting two mugs from the cupboard as Ross trailed into the kitchen behind him, taking his time with inspecting the place and how it was just all so much cleaner and everything was so much better put together since he’d last seen the place.

As Matty put the kettle on, Ross leaned back against the countertop and resorted to just watching him for a moment or so. It wasn’t long before Matty felt his eyes on his back, and turned around to face him: hitting him with a bold, kind of questioning look, but unable to hide the way his fingers tapped frantically against the countertop as the possible outcomes of the imminent conversation loomed over his head.

“The kitchen’s a whole lot cleaner than it was before.” Ross couldn’t help but announce what was clearly the most important thing on his mind.

Matty grinned, “I got George to do the washing up.” He turned around as the kettle finished boiling and poured the hot water into the two mugs. “He didn’t particularly want to, but I’m very persuasive.” Matty assured him with a grin, which left Ross perhaps even more confused in regards to the whole ordeal than he had been before.

“Persuasive?” Ross questioned, watching as Matty took their two mugs over to the table and sat down in front of his.

“Persuasive.” Matty gave him a nod, and gestured for him to take the seat beside him. “Yeah.”

“So are you going to explain something now?” Ross asked, leaning back in the chair, watching as Matty seemed to bury his face behind his mug in response, and in return, took a moment to appreciate that Matty was definitely nervous in all of this and that he shouldn’t rush him.

“Yeah.” Matty placed his mug back down upon the table and stared into it for a moment, unsure how best to approach the topic of well, the unexpected homosexuality that had occurred between them. “It’s kind of hard to talk about.” Matty admitted, blushing a little, “like, sometimes there are things that you just can’t  _ say _ and…” Matty bit his lip, “this is like that.”

“Matty, I’m not going to be upset, come on, I’m just honestly I’m so happy that you’re talking to me about things, and I really appreciate that, because I just want to  _ help _ you.” Ross assured him, taking a sip of his coffee as Matty seemed to lose himself in the matter of tapping his fingernails against the tabletop for a good minute or so.

“Something happened in December first. Something with me and George that only we knew about, and then what happened at New Year was related to that, which is, I guess why you don’t get it.” Matty began, tracing patterns into the table with his index finger. “And I know you’re not going to be upset or anything, because you’re not a dickhead, but it’s just  _ weird _ . It’s like one of those things, that you just can’t say.”

“What?” Ross let out a laugh. “I’m your dad and you’re telling me you’re pregnant or something?” Ross, of course, had the peace of mind in the fact that it was biologically impossible for Matty to be pregnant.

“Not pregnant.” Matty fell into a smile, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. “Pretty sure of that.”

“Are you going to make me guess?” Ross stretched his arms out across the table, stumped as to quite what it could be. “Because that’s what I’ve spent four months doing, you know? And I’ve not really gotten anywhere.”

“It’s kind of a… it’s kind of like… I don’t think it’s something you’d expect, and I’m kind of  _ scared _ , I mean, you’re not going to react badly, you’re just going to  _ react _ and I feel awkward about that.” Matty rushed the words very quickly from his lips and then proceeded to hide his face in his coffee mug for a good thirty seconds.

“Do you want me to promise not to say a single thing?” Ross leaned back, not entirely sure what to make of the situation at all, as he had expected that he might be able to read a little bit of the truth off Matty’s face as they spoke, but the reality was quite different.

“No, fuck, I want you to. You’re going to say something, because honestly I mean, I didn’t see it coming at first, it surprised me, so it’s going to surprise you, and then it’s something you have to accept and deal with, and well not  _ deal with _ , but I don’t think it’s going away.” Matty paused for a moment. “It’s not a bad thing. At first I thought it was, but it’s not. Not at all.”

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Ross gave a laugh, and Matty simply resorted to rolling his eyes.

Matty sat there for a moment: picking up his mug and putting it down again, sliding it around the table, and flicking at the handle with his nails. His fidgeting was close to driving Ross mad, but with the situation at hand, he did little more than sit there and wait: patient and hopeful.

A good four minutes had passed before Matty came to accept that there was no way around the fact that he just  _ had _ to say it, and that really all the fear around it was something he’d constructed for himself, and definitely held no weight out in the real world. 

He took a breath, focusing his gaze upon his fingernails, now tapping against the tabletop, and just  _ said _ it. Because the act of saying it was just so simple in contrast, and he found himself realising that just moments before the words slipped his lips, bringing about a certain nonchalance in his tone, which really didn’t fit with the content of his words, and maybe he might have found that amusing if he wasn’t practically shitting himself over saying it.

“I’m kind of in love with George.”

Matty let the silence follow: seizing its icy grip over the two of them for barely even ten seconds, before he found himself obligated to speak again - to part the silence, to delay Ross’ response.

“Not kind of.” He corrected himself, bringing his hand up to hide his face, then to bite at his fingernails. “I  _ am _ .”

Ross found that he’d likely accounted for everything but that, and in turn, he found that he hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say in response, because for one, it still hadn’t fully sunken in, and really, he’d been expecting  _ anything _ but that. However, as he sat in silence: eyes blown wide open, and head resting on his hands, it quickly became clear how this brought sense to everything else, and with it, how everything seemed to tie itself back together.

“I…” Matty found himself decaying amidst the silence, the self-destructive voice at the back of his mind yelling at him to destroy himself rather than face Ross’ reaction. It was killing him - the silence, the wait, and it came to the point where his whole body trembled slightly and the only remedy he could bring to mind was breaking the silence himself. The issue, however, was the fact that he had very little idea of what to say, because this just wasn’t the kind of thing you could follow up with talking about your morning, or something you’d read last night. “Since December, maybe November even, but I didn’t really know it in November, I don’t think.”

Ross stretched his arms out across the table, exhaling loudly, before turning to Matty and looking him in the eye. “You’re… like properly in  _ love _ , like… seriously in love like… it means everything?” His tone wasn’t disbelieving or at all condescending, as Matty had expected that it might be, but instead gentle, soft; he spoke as if he was personally ensuring that each word didn’t hit Matty wrong as it slipped through his lips. “Like it’s… like  _ you’re _ …”

“I’m in love with him.” Matty found that it was much easier to say it after the first time; suddenly it felt like a given, like of  _ course _ he was in love with George - what else could it be? He just hoped that Ross would come to think the same way. “Properly.” He assured him, leaning back in his chair and allowing himself to relax as much as the situation allowed.

“So it’s like… like you’re…” Ross tried again, gesturing awkwardly with his hands as he spoke, and it was obvious to the both of them that the word he wanted to use was ‘gay’, but Ross was very well aware of the girls Matty had dated and fucked, sometimes even both, in the past, and he was just struggling to voice that without upsetting him.

“I’m pansexual.” Matty found himself biting at his lip once more, and he wondered if perhaps maybe he should have cared slightly about how it might end up bruising in all of this, but the fact of the matter was that he just didn’t. “Attracted to all genders.” He offered in explanation. “So I still wanna fuck girls, just not really right now, because I just want to…” Matty trailed off, coming to the sudden realisation that telling Ross that he wanted to fuck their mutual best friend of ten years was perhaps sort of overly blunt, and well,  _ awkward _ .

Much to Matty’s surprise, however, Ross finished Matty’s sentence for him, “you want to fuck George.” Ross exhaled, just  _ thinking _ for a moment about how this all changed  _ everything _ . “It’s all fine, by the way. I still care about you - nothing’s changed.”

“I know.” Matty nodded, pulling his knee up to his chest. “You’re not a dickhead.” He paused for a moment, holding Ross’ gaze, and trying his best to avoid paying too much attention to the way he regarded him just so slightly differently. “Things have changed, though, course they have. I mean me and George are gay together, of course that’s going to change things, but not all change is bad.”

“Wait,” Ross’ eyes widened, his jaw dropping a little, “you’re… you’re gay  _ together _ \- you… I thought you just…  I didn’t think you’d told him?” Ross’ lips curled up into a smile, suddenly very proud of Matty, “fuck, I thought I was going to have to spend weeks trying to find you the confidence to admit it to him. You’re not really one for talking about your problems, are you, I mean…” Ross trailed off, shaking his head, “you talked last night, fuck, I forgot. So wait, what did he say? What happened?”

Matty blushed a little, “you know, we were gay together in December as well, it’s not news to him?” He shook his head as he let out a sigh, “gay together sounds kind of ridiculous, doesn’t it? But we’re not like…  _ dating _ , or anything, I mean, not yet, because I’m not at all opposed to the idea of being his boyfriend, I just… we’re taking things slowly this time because things really did  _ not _ work out last time.”

“Wait… fuck…” Ross began to piece things together in his mind, “so I assumed you were upset at New Year because you were jealous that he kissed Saffy, and not because he’d  _ cheated _ on you or something, because I swear to fucking God, I don’t care that he’s George, I’m going to kill him for that-” Ross stood up, looking ready to hunt George down at that very moment and shove and knife through his throat.

“Don’t.” Matty shook his head, curling his fingers around Ross’ arm and pulling him back down into his seat. “He didn’t  _ cheat _ on me - we weren’t in a relationship, so he couldn’t have cheated on me, it’s just that I got jealous. We had something, and my idea of the situation was that the something we had was exclusive, but we never discussed it at all, so he had a different idea about things. It wasn’t his fault, it was both of our faults for not talking about it.”

“Still…” Ross leaned back in his chair, attempting to wrap his head around exactly what had gone on between Matty and George across the past six months that he had been so fucking  _ oblivious _ to. “He shouldn’t have kissed her, and fuck, he shouldn’t have left you for her, and-” Ross shook his head, burying it in his hands, “fuck, I had no idea what I was doing I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s not your fault.” Matty told him, reaching for his arm and pulling it away from his face. “Not George’s fault either. I don’t blame you, I don’t blame him, and what I really don’t want is for you to be angry with him, because it’s passed now, it was a mistake, and that’s not going to make things any better.”

Ross just sat in silence for a moment, watching Matty in an odd state of awe. “It’s been a week, and you’ve changed so much, I just-”

“It sounds kind of pathetic, really, but,” Matty began to explain, twirling a strand of hair around his finger, “I kind of  _ need _ him, like he just… I didn’t want to admit it, because it made me feel pathetic, but it shouldn’t, and I’m making a point out of telling myself that it doesn’t anymore, so at first I pushed him away, but I don’t know how to explain it…” He took a breath, focusing on just how George made him feel. “He’s just  _ George _ , like there’s nothing else, like he’s this part of me, and that was missing for so long, and now I feel like things make sense now.”

“You’re in love with him.” Ross concluded with a nod, watching the way Matty’s cheeks grew pink in response. “That’s what it is, and you’ve been in love with him all this time, and I-”

“I didn’t make it easy for myself.” Matty assured him. “Don’t blame yourself,  _ please _ . Don’t blame George either. Not everything has to be someone’s fault.” Ross gave him a nod in response, seemingly waiting for Matty to continue, “I walked into that bathroom where they were kissing and I honestly felt like the world was ending. Didn’t help how drunk I was, but I felt like maybe I’d imagined the whole thing between us, and just constructed the fact that he felt the same for myself. I just felt pathetic, and  _ stupid _ , honestly.”

“I’m sorry.” Ross got up from his chair and pulled Matty up into a hug. “You should have talked to someone about it.”

“I  _ know _ .” Matty insisted, pulling away and just hovering by his chair for a moment: a little hesitant to sit back down again. “I was scared to…” He looked away, “I felt ashamed, and that’s stupid, but I felt so… weird about the whole sexuality aspect of it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, though, course there’s not, but I was just scared, and things shouldn’t be different just because we’re both guys, so I’m not going to let it be, not anymore.”

“You shouldn’t, there’s nothing different about it.” Ross nodded, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, and pulling it out to see a text from Adam, asking just how things were going. “So…” He let a smile fall across his face, “do you want to tell Adam or do you want me just to very casually text him about it.”

Matty grinned, letting out a laugh, “be nonchalantly vague about it, but use the gay couple emoji and then the eggplant thing at the end.”

“ _ Matty _ .” Ross gave him a look, shaking his head in disbelief, but then proceeded to do so, because admittedly, okay, it was kind of amusing.

“Also…” Matty began, watching Ross send the message to Hann, “George wanted me to talk to you about how I like…” He trailed off, not entirely sure how to approach it, “basically, I get in a state sometimes, I mean, I do a lot, but then it happened this morning and George wanted me to talk to you about it, because you’d know what to say. It’s like, this morning I woke up and I couldn’t breathe, and it was like everything was crashing over me, like suddenly everything was just so overwhelming that I couldn’t remember how to breathe or move or think about anything other than what was causing it, and then I ended up crying and I don’t think I stopped for almost half an hour. It kind of happens often, and I don’t know, I never really wanted to think about it, let alone talk about it, but George was worried about me, so… yeah… I’m… a bit of a wreck.”

“Matty…” Ross paused for a moment, thinking over what he’d said, “how long has that been happening?”

“Well… it was only bad since New Year, but it never  _ started _ , it was always just kind of there, just manageable and like not as bad before, because it didn’t start happening, it just sort of got worse. Out of control, or something like that.” He found himself pulling his eyes away from Ross as he spoke.

“And you can’t control when this happens?” Ross asked, running it all through his mind as he found himself entertaining various possibilities, but there was of course one that stood out as the most likely. Matty shook his head. “Do you think they could be panic attacks?”

Matty’s head shot up, regarding Ross with a look that implied that he’d suggested something entirely preposterous. “Isn’t that like when you can’t speak in front of people, like social anxiety, though, and this is different?”

“There’s more than one type of anxiety.” Ross told him, “and then you don’t have to have anxiety to have panic attacks, but I think you might, having thought about things.”

Matty let out a sigh, “well, isn’t that just fucking  _ wonderful _ ?”

“Matty-” Ross insisted, narrowing his eyes at him.

“What? Wow, well done, I’m fucked up, we’ve gathered that. It fucking sucks, that’s nice, we’ve gathered that-”

“You can get better, you know?” Ross reached for his arm, holding Matty’s gaze as he did so. “You should see a doctor.”

“No offense, but nothing about that sounds appealing.” Matty shrugged, turning away from Ross as he pulled away from his grip. “It’s just  _ part _ of me - it’s not going to go away. That’s just stupid.”

“It can, though.” Ross met him with a pleading look. “Come on,  _ listen _ to me.”

“I don’t need a fucking doctor, I can sort things out by myself.” Matty folded his arms across his chest, refusing to even contemplate the possibility of it.

“You could, but trust me, it’d be  _ easier _ . It’s just help, Matty, you shouldn’t refuse it.” Ross insisted, his voice growing softer. “You should take all the help you can get.”

Matty didn’t respond for a minute or so, letting the silence grow around them, turning the air cold as it did so. However, eventuality struck, as it always did, and with time, Matty came to turn back to Ross: mind having drifted off a little. “I’m scared.” He came to admit. “I do want help - I’m just  _ scared _ .”

“You shouldn’t be. Things will get better, things will get easier, and you know that, don’t you?”

Matty gave a nod, because yes he knew that, but Ross had said nothing about really believing it in his heart. He just couldn’t avoid the way this all felt like some sort of dream, some sort of makeshift reality, where you clicked your fingers and immediately received whatever you desired, and Matty knew all too well that the real world just didn’t work like that.

-

It drew close to midnight, the bedroom encased in darkness besides the small glow of light illuminating from the night light on Matty’s side of the bed, because that was a thing now - it was  _ their _ bed now, with George laid on his side facing the light, and Matty next to him with his back against George’s chest.

The two were growing close to sleep by now, and Matty even lay there with his eyes closed, relaxing into the warmth radiating from George’s chest, and the touch of his hand against his chest. George, however, kept his gaze fixated upon the light from lamp, taking an almost excessive interest in the way it fell on their surroundings, and in particular, the way it cast shadows across Matty’s face. George knew that he wasn’t quite asleep yet, and he had confidence in the fact that he’d be able to tell, but Matty lay there so quietly and at peace with the world that the illusion of sleep was definitely convincing.

However, with the passing of a few minutes, Matty began to stir slightly and open his eyes, glancing back in George’s direction and finding that he blushed a little under the sudden eye contact.

“Yeah?” George asked, moving slightly so Matty could turn to look at him. “What is it?”

“George…” Matty began, tucking himself under George’s arm as they turned onto their backs. “Do you think that everything will change? Like properly, like in my head, like not just get better, but go away  _ completely _ .” Matty couldn’t help but fixate on what Ross had said to him earlier that day, and with the evening spent walking Allen together, Matty hadn’t really found the moment to bring it up as of yet. “That’s what Ross said.”

George gave a nod, coming to remember just what Ross had spoken to him about when he’d returned home from work, and how it had felt so weirdly like Matty was their child that they couldn’t talk about serious things in front of, but still, Ross had been looking at him differently and George knew that he didn’t mean to cause offense by it, but it was the ‘I can’t stop thinking about you and Matty being together’ kind of look. Though, of course, George had known to expect it.

“I think he’s right.” George assured him, letting his gaze drift away to the ceiling. “You should see a doctor about it.” He could feel the way Matty squirmed in discomfort at the prospect. “It won’t be like you think,” he promised, although it was much more of a promise based upon hopes and well-wishing as opposed to facts and knowledge, but his heart was definitely in the right place in the matter, and that had to count for something.

“Come with me.” Matty pleaded, having remained deep in thought for a good few minutes before he came to such a conclusion.

“Course.” George’s reply was instant. “Of course I will.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss against Matty’s cheek, and the two fell back into silence for the few minutes that followed. It was, however, a pleasant kind of silence - comfortable, something they were both at ease with, as of course, they were finally at ease with each other.

“Is it weird now?” Matty gave out a sigh, “was it weird for you? Because I kind of feel weird, just knowing that they know about us, and it’s, it’s nothing to be worried about, but I’m kind… of  _ nervous _ . I don’t know why, not really.”

“How about good weird?” George suggested, stretching a little, “I think it’s good weird, you know? Have you checked your phone because they’ve just been talking about it for ages today?” Matty shook his head, and George considered reaching for his phone to show him, but he just didn’t much feel like moving, and it wasn’t like the messages wouldn’t still be there in the morning. “I mean they’re definitely in support of it, but it’s like they’re getting a little too support at times, but they mean well, I mean, well Adam keeps asking about us fucking, which I’ve told him hasn’t happened, but he doesn’t believe me, so that’s lovely.”

“He’s right.” Matty’s voice faded out into murmur, vibrating slightly against George’s chest.

“What?” George raised his eyebrows a little: slightly more awake than Matty, and taking in slightly more of the conversation. “I think I would have noticed if we’d fucked, you know?”

Matty shook his head, groaning slightly. “No… that’s not what I mean. I’m saying that we  _ should _ .”

George practically choked on a grasp of breath, and he lay there thankful that the darkness succeeded in hiding the way his cheeks were turning red. “What? Right now?” The words stumbled from his lips: hasty, uncertain,  _ nervous _ .

“ _ No _ .” Matty opened his eyes a little more, attempting to focus them on George’s face, but found himself struggling to keep them open. “I’m going to sleep now, but… I think it’d be a nice thing to do whenever… the right moment arises…”

“Are we not going to be like one of those middle aged couples who set a specific time and day for it?” George grinned, faking astonishment at Matty’s suggestion.

Matty snorted, “stop being such a dickhead and go to sleep.”

George managed to oblige for a good thirty seconds before something else struck him, “if we do set a specific time and day, it can’t be Friday night because Ross invited us over to his.”

“We’re not-...” Matty trailed off, George’s words beginning to make some sense in his head, “and you said yes without consulting with me first?”

“If you had agreed on a specific time and day for our weekly consultations then, I-”

“George, we’re not having a fucking family meeting, me, you, and Allen, like shut  _ up _ .” Matty came to attempt sleeping once more, but of course, George still had something more to say.

“But it’s alright, isn’t it? You don’t mind going - it’s nothing big, just like Ross and Adam and their girlfriends, and us, for like dinner and shit?” 

“George…” Matty trailed off, sitting up in bed, and looking George directly in the eye. “You do realise you’ve been coerced into a fucking triple date?”

George snorted, stretching his arms out behind his head, “it’ll be fun. We can try and piss them off by being… c-... affectionate.” The word George had been looking for had been ‘coupley’ but he came to the realisation that they were exactly a  _ couple _ yet.

“Because that’s the perfect way to make up for being a reclusive wreck for months, isn’t it?” Matty rolled his eyes, lying back down and giving George a gentle shove. “Great idea, isn’t it?”

He laughed, running his fingers through Matty’s hair as he pulled his arms back down from where they’d been stretched out. “Okay, maybe it was more of just an excuse to kiss you.”

“You are  _ such _ a fucking sop.” Matty shook his head in disbelief, “come on, admit it, you’re  _ ridiculous _ .”

“Ridiculously handsome.” George ‘corrected’ him.

“No, ridiculously annoying when I’m trying to get to sleep.” Matty reached across the bed and turned the light off, before leaning back into George’s side, closing his eyes for real this time. “If you don’t shut up I’m going to kick you out of bed.” Matty’s voice was perhaps too gentle in relation to the actual meaning behind his words. “Night.”

George grinned, knowing that Matty would never actually kick him out, but still, he decided it was best not to risk it, and simply whispered a quick, “goodnight,” in response.

-


	7. this is such a gay shitpost of a fic im sorry

It was weird. Things were different. Matty could physically feel things changing around him, and innately that would just always be something he was opposed to, but there was no denying that this time around it, things were better - this was the good kind of change. It still put butterflies in his stomach, and the worst kind of thoughts in his mind, but they were different butterflies and different thoughts, and perhaps this was a different kind of bad, a lower standard of worse, and in that, things were definitely changing for the better.

Matty, of course, however, had to admit that he was hardly the most relaxed of people; he couldn’t just drift through life without a care, and when he tried to do so, what he imagined as drifting was in reality just him ploughing through it, and destroying everything he loved around him. Additionally, he always been one of those people who’d be reluctant to believe in the miraculous nature of happy endings, and things turning on their head for the better, but it seemed that life itself had taken quite the turn just to prove him wrong.

This was all, of course, just so weird. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to: the presence of another in bed beside him, someone to turn the mush of his brain back into words and sense again, full nights of sleep, proper meals, proper showers, proper life, proper living. It was all subjective, of course, but there was this part of Matty, hidden away at the back of his head, out of sight, that insisted that this was just how it was supposed to be, for Matty at least.

He couldn’t help but question the truth to that claim, as after all, things had gone so wrong before, and perhaps the idea of him and George actually  _ dating _ properly, for a long time, forever, seemed so out of reach, looming over him, somewhat nauseating. It wasn’t dread placed within itself, however, but dread in what Matty had pinned down to be the inevitabilities of the situation: dread of the fallout, of the mess that followed, going through those four months again, picking himself up and putting him back together again after he’d trusted every piece of himself to George.

There was little question, however, about the fact that it was something Matty wanted, but he regarded with an elusive kind of want, like he couldn’t quite convince himself that it really could happen, like he couldn’t fully trust in the fact that this wouldn’t all just fade away before he could even get comfortable in it. He came to conclude that perhaps he just wanted it too much, and in that, he was too scared, and everything came crashing down on him at once in a great mess of expectation and anxiety. He never wanted to have difficulty trusting people, especially not when it came to people like George, who he should trust without question, but there were just some things about himself that he struggled to even comprehend, let alone change.

He came to an understanding, and within that understanding he happened to come to accept that weird was definitely the way forward, and that he might just have to get accustomed to it all, to be comfortable with the uncertain, the unknown, and when it came to the butterflies in his stomach, focus not on the sensation, of the way it tore him apart, but of the butterflies themselves, of the beauty in the colours, of the wonder in the beats of their wings. 

Matty wondered if perhaps there was some good in everything, as long as you were prepared to go out and find it, and as to whether that was always worth it. He wasn’t entirely sure of that, but he found himself growing evermore certain that in this instance, it certainly was.

He’d let the sunrise pass him by, as he lay there in bed, drowning himself out in his own thoughts, this time, however, he’d found that he’d managed to stay afloat, or at least accept that there was life at the bottom of the ocean, just as there was above it. Everything was about perspective, really, and Matty couldn’t help but find that he’d found himself stuck in such a singular way of thinking, and that in doing so, he’d very much trapped himself in a certain part of his head, and it was now that Matty could truly appreciate just how much of a bad thing that was.

Everything about the start of his ‘new life’, which he’d proclaimed to just about everyone who’d talked to him, which as of present, was exclusively, George, Adam, and Ross, seemed so very daunting, but simultaneously, so very exciting, inspiring, something like that. Whatever it was, it felt like  _ something _ , and although Matty just couldn’t pin down the exact nature of that something, he just wasn’t entirely sure that mattered. It was perhaps more about what you did with the feeling, than the specifics of it in the first place.

There was definitely power in the kind of change you could revel in, and Matty found that he’d had so very little power over his own life, or at least felt that way, for such a long while now. In the sudden change, there was no avoiding the looming shadow of expectation and uncertainty, but this time around, he was determined not to focus on his own shadow, no matter how great, and no matter how dark, outstretched behind him, but upon the light and the world that spanned out for miles and miles in front of him.

And with that all, there was the sudden spark of a notion, that despite all odds, things were going to work out this time. They were going to be happy.  _ He _ was going to be happy, and that meant the entire world.

He came to terms with the daylight, and the prospect of getting out of bed, setting his brain back into focus with reality, a good twenty minutes after he’d first awoken, having at first allowed his brain to drift off and ponder his situation, because that was of course, natural, and good for him, but only to an extent. That went for everything, there was just always an extent, a boundary, a line to cross, he couldn’t help but admit that he often struggled in placing that line.

His bedroom was now beginning to fill with the warm glow of morning light, seeping in through the gap in the curtains, not quite closed, from last night, as they’d only noticed once they were already quite comfortable in bed, and the thing was just that getting out of bed in that state had certainly been the last thing on their minds. He reached out towards the bedside table for his phone, nearly dropping it as he pulled it away from the charger, but eventually succeeding to pull it back into bed with him. 

The time displayed on the screen told him that it was still pretty early, just past eight, and he spent a good minute or so debating whether or not to wake George up yet. Eventually, however, he came to recall the instance in which George had insisted to him that he should wake him up whenever, and that he wouldn’t mind. Matty was sure that applied more so to when he actually needed to talk to him, and not just when he wanted someone to make him a cup of tea because he was too lazy to get out of bed himself, but, of course, George had never actually specified as such.

Matty placed his phone down on his pillow, turning over to face George, who had managed to bury the majority of his face against the pillow. He was awfully cute, really, even fast asleep, hair sticking up at all angles, drooling onto a pillow. Matty had to admit that he was definitely getting soppy, but if soppy seemed to correlate so strongly with happy, then he had to accept that maybe soppy wasn’t such a bad thing after all. George was beautiful, anyway, there was no denying that. Even as he lay so soundly asleep, and so blissfully unaware of the world.

“George.” Matty began, watching George’s face carefully for any signs of motion or acknowledgement of Matty’s voice. It seemed, however, that he was yet to stir. Matty grew impatient, tapping gently against George’s arm, trying again, louder this time, “ _ George _ .”

“Mhmmm…” George let out a muffled kind of groan in response, leaving Matty unsure as to whether he’d actually heard him or if it was just a noise he’d made in his sleep.

“ _ George _ .” Matty’s voice grew louder still, and he resorted to shoving him slightly, gently as possible, because Matty couldn’t help but be so terribly cautious of hurting him. “Wake up.”

It was then that he began to blink slowly, struggling to open his eyes, his brain yet to quite fully comprehend what was happening. “What…?” His voice was low and muffled, as he began to blink faster, attempting to focus his vision upon Matty, and kept himself from falling asleep again.

“Wake up.” Matty let out a sigh, leaning closer to George, and pressing himself against his chest. “You’re so warm…” Matty closed his eyes momentarily, “how are you this warm?”

“I’m hot.” George’s response was a little delayed, his tone slow and equally as quiet. “That’s why.” Regardless, Matty couldn’t help but let out a little snort in response. “Don’t laugh at me, it’s true.” George grumbled, poking at Matty’s arm.

“Yeah…” Matty dragged out his response, “alright.” He glanced up at George, grinning. George had just about gotten to the stage where he was capable of keeping his eyes open now, and Matty found himself awfully proud of his progress in waking him up.

“Are you awake now?” Matty asked, moving so he was laying with his face directly opposite George’s.

George groaned a little more, reaching up and rubbing his eyes, “I guess I am. What time’s it?” He asked, words still slightly slurred together.

“Eight.” Matty told him, watching the way George frowned slightly, and coming back with a very quick response, “don’t look at me like that, you told me to wake you up. You told me it was fine.” Matty had taken care in ensuring that his words were expressed much more light heartedly, but still, George met him with an awfully sincere kind of apologetic look about him.

“I did.” George cleared his throat, stretching a little as he rolled onto his back, taking a moment to properly adjust his eyes to the light of the room, before sitting up a little, and turning back to Matty. “And I’m awake now. Look. Properly.”

Matty smiled, burying himself under George’s arm, with his head against his chest. “Thank you.”

George couldn’t help but blush, not in anyway imagining that managing to pull his brain into a coherent state of consciousness was particularly worthy of any sort of thanks. He thought, however, that it was better not to express this, as he found that he was just relieved to find that Matty seemed to be listening to his advice. “You alright? Nothing wrong is there?” Matty seemed to be in a relatively good mood, but George felt that it was just better to check.

“Yeah.” Matty gave a nod, confirming the truth behind it in a brief look they shared. “Just a bit lonely when you’re asleep. Missed you.”

George laughed, grinning down at Matty, who couldn’t help but fall into a blush. “That’s awfully sweet of you.” He leaned forward, kissing Matty on the cheek, pressing their foreheads together as he found himself so very reluctant to pull away. “I’m right here you know, though.”

Matty sighed, fumbling for some great explanation of how he’d felt, but coming to accept that perhaps they were better off without it, and instead, moved to kiss George again. This time, he kissed him on the lips, Matty took charge, seeming to forget how they’d both just woken up, or not seeming to care.

It was George that pulled away after ten seconds or so. He grinned, tucking Matty’s hair behind his ear. “You’ve got morning breath. I’ve got morning breath. Don’t be disgusting.”

Matty rolled his eyes, just a little offended at George’s accusation, despite the fact, that however, it was just unavoidably true. “I want to kiss you, though. Like a lot. Like all the time.”

George groaned, laughing, “you really  _ are _ disgusting.”

“Shut up.” Matty shoved him gently, unable to hide the way his cheeks rather quickly grew quite a vibrant shade of red. “I didn’t wake you up for you to  _ insult  _ me.” He shook his head in mock disbelief.

George just couldn’t help but smile. “So what did you wake me up for?”

Matty paused for a moment, shrugging, “to make me a cup of tea, mostly.”

-

“You look  _ fine _ .” George assured him, leaning halfway into their bedroom through the doorway. “Honestly.” He added, as Matty glanced back at him, bottom lip pulled back nervously between his teeth.

Matty had never really been all that concerned with his appearance, well, excessively so, but George had stood waiting for him to get ready for a good twenty minutes now. George was pretty confident that they were going to be late to Ross’, but he reckoned that letting Matty know that would hardly help the situation; he’d get into a state, and then things would only get worse, and he imagined that it really wasn’t the best of situations for anyone involved.

As Matty turned back around to face his reflection in the mirror, evidently dissatisfied with the pair of black jeans and floral shirt he was wearing at the moment, George resorted to pulling out his phone and quickly texting Ross to let him know what was happening.

Ross responded within the next thirty seconds, enquiring as to exactly what was going on, and George could practically see the concern in his face painted in the characters displayed on screen. He didn’t much want to detail the entirety of their morning, and the six times Matty had changed his mind about going entirely, to Ross over text message, so instead he told him that Matty couldn’t decide what to wear, which was largely true, but really not the whole of it.

George could tell that this was less about the clothes and more of Matty’s mental state, because it wasn’t really a different pair of jeans that changed the way he viewed himself in the mirror - it was his mind, it was his worries, and George could see that Matty was growing dangerously close to changing his mind about going again.

The thing was, however, was that this was important, and this mattered, this was a first, in a long while, anyway, and it was perhaps just that which left Matty in such a state. It didn’t make too much sense, but George had gathered that Matty tended to have very little control over the way his mind worked. That, of course, however, didn’t make it particularly easy for George when it came to trying to help him through this.

Matty let out a sigh, seeming to give up as he threw himself down onto the bed, limbs splaying out disheartenedly. He bit his lip, keeping his eyes fixated upon the ceiling, focusing so very hard on just trying not to cry, because they’d have to leave soon, and the last thing he wanted was for everyone to be able to tell that he’d just been crying, that the act of simply spending time with other people had brought him to that kind of state. In comfort to himself, he came to conclude that this just had to be one of his bad days, but truly, he knew that more often than not, there was just good and bad in each day, and it was up to him as to which way the balance swayed.

George’s footsteps were slow and gentle against the carpet of the room, and to Matty’s mind, already having jumped to the extreme overanalysis of every slight breath and movement, it seemed to take years until George sat down on the bed beside Matty. He reached out, grabbing Matty’s hand and wrapping his fingers rather tightly around Matty’s, before pulling him up into a sitting position, where Matty allowed his head to fall into George’s lap, curls falling messily across George’s thighs.

“It’s going to be fine.” George began, his voice slow - not cautiously so, but more comfortingly so. He began to run his fingers through Matty’s hair, feeling Matty move back into his touch as he did so. “You’re going to be alright, I promise. You look fine, and honestly, are they going to give much of a shit which pair of jeans you wear?”

Matty nodded, letting out a sigh and closing his eyes momentarily. “They’re not. You’re right.” He sat upright, shifting into George’s chest, and letting George slide his arms around him, Matty finding himself unable to care just how pathetic this whole situation seemed, and just what kind of state he’d landed himself in out of nowhere. Out of nothing. “I’m going to give a shit, though. And I look like shit. I just do.”

George paused for a moment, not entirely sure what to say in response to that, because there’d never been a single doubt in his mind that Matty was just beautiful, and he’d much prefer if he could manage to communicate that without it turning into a cheesy, meaningless mess. “I don’t think you do. You’re beautiful, you know?” He laughed a little, feeling Matty burying his flushed face into his chest. “I mean it. It’s true.”

Matty pulled away slightly, looking up at George with raised eyebrows. “That’s you, though. I can’t see myself like you do, and I just… I don’t know, feeling bad about myself on the outside doesn’t much help myself on the inside.” He paused for a moment, picking at the duvet absent mindedly as he thought. “I guess it didn’t matter much before. I don’t know. It’s not that I feel  _ ugly _ . It’s just… I feel like shit, and I feel like I look like shit. And I don’t want people to look at me and guess that I feel like shit. I want people to think I’m better, that I’m  _ normal _ .”

“Matty…” George reached for his hand, grasping it tight as he spoke, ensuring he had all of Matty’s attention. “No one’s expecting you to be fully recovered within a few days.” Matty bit his lip, looking away. “No, look at me,” George insisted, squeezing his hand gently, and pulling Matty’s gaze gently back to his. “No one’s expecting, anything. You don’t need to make this important, you don’t need to place everything down to this one day, it doesn’t have to be perfect, and that’s the thing, because it won’t be, and that’s fine, because things just  _ aren’t _ perfect. Nothing is.”

“I don’t want people to…” Matty trailed off, not entirely how best to word it, “treat me like I’m just this emotional wreck, I want to be a person again-”

“Matty, you never  _ stopped _ being a person.” George sighed, daring to think back to how things had been before. “People aren’t going to treat you like that, I promise, because I’m not going to let them.”

Matty scoffed, lying back against the bed, “so I’m gonna be like one of those bitchy girls who gets her six foot chavvy boyfriend to bash your head into the gutter if you ever say one bad word.” He sighed, pushing his hair back out of his face.

“Six foot chavvy boyfriend?” George glanced down at him in disbelief, not entirely sure quite what to make of that. “Not sure that’s quite right.”

Matty laughed, feeling that little bit better, but still not entirely in the best mindset. “Yeah, alright, you’re taller than six foot I’ll give you that.” He flashed George a smirk, before finding it within himself to get up off the bed, and coming to face his reflection in the mirror again. 

“I’m not a chav.” George insisted, making quite the effort not to be offended. “Come on, course I’m not, you have  _ standards _ , don’t you?” He sat up, checking his phone to find that they definitely should have left what was now closing onto half an hour ago.

Matty shrugged, grabbing a jacket from his cupboard and shrugging it over his shoulders. “Standards? Sort of… something like that.”

“Shut up.” George rolled his eyes, making his way back towards the door, in the hope that it’d subconsciously draw Matty closer to leaving. “Not a chav.” He muttered, very insistently. It was, however, only that time around that George came to realise that he wasn’t really Matty’s  _ boyfriend _ either. He also couldn’t help but notice how Matty had also failed to mention that, but of course, he seemed a little caught up in the mess currently flooding his head.

“Ready to leave?” George glanced over him, hopeful as Matty finally turned around, coming to conclude that this jacket was actually suitable, or something like that.

Matty felt himself glancing back at the bed, and he couldn’t avoid the fact that he just wanted to spend the entire day just laid there with George, but he didn’t want to spend his entire  _ life _ just like that, so change had to start somewhere. “Tell me I look pretty, and then I’ll be ready.”

George shook his head in disbelief, letting out a half hearted kind of snort of a laugh. He drew his gaze up to meet Matty’s, catching the sort of doe eyed, awkward kind of look ensnared upon his face. “You’re pretty. Very pretty. The prettiest-”

“Alright, alright,” Matty groaned, making his way past George and out of the bedroom, “no need to get disgusting about it.”

George snorted, following him out of the house. “Not being disgusting, just honest.” Matty let out another groan in response, but there was no denying the blush that George caught glowing against his cheeks in the light.

-

Despite his nerves, there was definitely something within this all that felt like home, that felt right, that felt not just like the person he used to be, but the person he could become. The simple interior of Ross’ house had the kind of peaceful, happy memories that had been buried under the mess of everything else, leaping right back out at him. He thought back and wondered how, back then, everything had seemed so simple, and dinner and had just been dinner, and drinks had just been drinks. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely a good thing, however, because there was always more to the world, and Matty had to accept that closing his eyes on all of that just had to be a bad thing.

He came to imagine that if he’d just continued to drift by in much of the same state that he’d spent the last year, and the year before that, he might not be any worse, but there’d be so little hope for getting any better, and there was just no denying that things had never been perfect to begin win. For a start, he’d had this whole awkward mess of a repressed sexuality that he’d spent an awful lot of time just pushing to the back of his mind, to deal with later for years on end. He’d just found himself dreading the act of dealing with it, with accepting the more complicated parts of himself - the parts he was yet to quite get to grips with.

However, Matty knew from the familiarity and comfort held in just the hallway light, and the smell of food from the kitchen, that things could only get better now. As of course, George had been right, and suddenly in the warm glow, of perhaps overly yellow light, and the slight fist shaped dent in the wall to his left, that Matty had once made several years ago as he’d stumbled drunkenly down the hall, nothing else seemed to matter that much, especially not the fucking pair of jeans he was wearing. It never been about the jeans to begin with, though, and they both knew that.

“You alright?” George came to notice the way Matty seemed to have drifted off elsewhere, placing a hand gently against his arm. Matty jumped slightly in its sudden presence, his mind making a rather quick tumble back to the here and now.

He nodded in response, meeting the worried look in George’s eyes with a smile. There was something about the genuine happiness behind it that caught George off guard, having expected Matty to have worked himself into some sort of state by now, but instead he seemed to more at ease than he had been all day. As much as this surprised George, he knew it was much better not to question it - this was definitely for the better after all.

“Come on then.” He nodded towards the door towards the living room: muffled sounds of laughter and conversation making their way through the closed door and into the hallway.

Matty reached for George’s hand, admittedly, a little too tightly at first. “I kind of forgot what it was like, you know…” He trailed off, looking back around the hallway. “It’s been forever, and I’m just. I miss things. Things I’d forgotten about.”

George smiled, giving Matty’s hand a gentle squeeze, before leaning down slightly to kiss him. He wasn’t entirely sure where the urge to do so had come from, but really, it was generally there in the background whenever he looked at him - Matty just had one of those faces, or maybe George was just a bit soppy, maybe it was both. The reasoning behind it, however, didn’t seem to matter much as Matty leaned upwards into the kiss, reaching his arms up around George’s neck. Everything seemed to melt away in that moment: sparks turning into fires, and the world they’d walked out into, suddenly not seeming quite so big at all.

“Uhmm…” What the two had failed notice however, amidst well, snogging by Ross’ front door, was the fact that Ross had seemed to have grown tired of waiting for them and had gotten up and come into the hallway himself to see what exactly was holding them up. “Guys…”

He couldn’t help but flush a horrible shade of pink as he watched the two of them break apart. There was just quite a difference between one of your best friends coming clean about what had been going on in regards to his feelings about one of your other best friends, and coming to accept and help the two of them through that, and well, walking into a room in your own house and catching the two of them snogging.

Ross would say that he’d done his best to accept the new nature of Matty and George’s relationship as normal as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t sure that very much could have sufficiently prepared him for that. It was well, shocking really, although it shouldn’t have been, and Ross was more than certain that he was just going to have to get used to it, but really, it had seemingly escalated quite a lot out of nowhere.

George groaned, shaking his head slightly, offering Ross an awkward kind of half apologetic smile. “Sorry, mate.”

Matty, however, had seemed to have taken a vastly different approach to the situation, and instead resorted to just letting out a breathy kind of half nervous giggle, before clutching back onto George by the arm. “It’s disgusting, I know, it’s his fault, he started it.  _ He _ kissed me.”

George rolled his eyes in disbelief, looking between Ross and Matty with quite the lack of anything to say. “It wasn’t like you didn’t kiss me back, though.” He raised his eyebrows at Matty, before turning back to Ross, who seemed rather hesitant in coming to conclude as to what he really had made of the situation.

“You’re both disgusting.” Ross noticed the way Matty was ready to open his mouth again, combined with that fucking looking in his eyes, and knew that it was just better to put a stop to it before the two ended up arguing and breaking up or something over this. Not that they were  _ officially _ together yet, but from where Ross was standing, they were pretty much married. “Come on.” He gestured them into the living room.

Matty came to wonder if he probably should have stopped clinging to George by the arm for when it came to making the impression on just what he’d become in all these months. He supposed it didn’t really matter much where Adam and Ross were concerned, but when it came to their girlfriends, who Matty had never really made much of an acquaintance with, as it was, he guessed he’d rather not be that weird one of your boyfriend’s friends that you kind of wished would just fuck off but you didn’t want to be rude about it.

He supposed, that really, it didn’t matter much at all, because if they didn’t really matter much to him, then their opinions should hold the same value, and if Matty wanted to be an awkwardly clingy, annoying piece of shit then he was going to take pride in that. Well not excessively so - there was a line with everything, but he couldn’t quite brush off his nerves, and he’d gotten into the situation where he’d put George down as his quick fix for everything. 

Anyway, no matter how cringey and awkward as he could end up being, he’d never out do the prospect of a fucking triple date, like seriously, of all the things George had agreed to. Of all the things his fucking friends had thought of. However, though, if it was  _ technically _ a date, then Matty did actually have a viable and reasonable excuse be as disgusting and soppy as he wanted to be.

The others were gathered around the coffee table, sat around on the three sofas that surrounded it. Matty had never been sure why Ross owned three sofas, but honestly it had never really struck him as important enough to bring up and thoroughly question, after all, they were small sofas, and they weren’t even that comfortable, but it was then that he found himself suddenly rather grateful, because he just didn’t want to sit anywhere other than just with George.

It was only as they did sit down that Matty came to notice the perhaps excessive amount of alcohol that had been set out across the coffee table, which really was a  _ coffee _ table and not shitty homemade cocktails table. It became apparent that Ross had never got past the ‘I’m fifteen and I think pouring some vodka into a glass of ribena is a cocktail’ stage, but Matty found that he wasn’t too fussed, and instead came to realise that he hadn’t really drank much at all for months now.

He’d never made much of a conscious effort to, he’d just always liked drinking, well more in the act of parties and socialising, than actually getting drunk and puking up in someone’s toilet. He’d just never really had that much at hand, he guessed it related back to the fact that it had been alcohol itself that had onset much of what had happened at New Year. He guessed that was likely for the best, he easily could have made this much worse for himself and spiralled into alcoholism or something. 

Matty thought he should probably make some sort of effort to actually remember the names of their girlfriends before things got awkward, although he was pretty sure that things already were. “So…” He let out a sigh, deciding that he might as well break the silence before it got particularly out of hand. He came to rather quickly conclude that it perhaps hadn’t been the best of his ideas, and instead went for a drink. That wasn’t one of his better ideas, either. “No offence, mate, but this tastes like shit.” He shook his head at Ross in disbelief.

George snorted, tapping him gently with an odd sort look in his eyes. Ross didn’t seem to be all that offended, and resorted instead to shrugging, and looking across at his girlfriend, who Matty was like seventy percent sure was called Ellie. Something beginning with ‘E’ at least.

“He’s right.” She turned away from Ross and shot Matty a smile. “Told you we should just have wine.”

“I agree with wine.” Matty added, deciding very suddenly that although he wasn’t entirely sure just who this girl was, they were now connected on a spiritual level.

“I agree with not having to drink this anymore.” Adam added, picking up his glass rather gingerly, eyeing it as if it contained toxic waste, and well, he wasn’t that far off, like for a start, Ross hadn’t even watered down the ribena first.

“If you’re going to come into my house and insult my drinks…” Ross trailed off, trying to hide the feeling of defeat inside, because really he had tried, sort of his best - he’d put in a good seventy five percent, that was three quarters, above average. His girlfriend shot him a look, Matty was now a good eighty percent sure that it was Ellie. “Go get some wine if you want it, Ellie.”

Matty had to restrain himself from fucking getting up and high fiving George or something, because yes, she was called Ellie. Adam’s girlfriend, however, he didn’t have the slightest fucking clue, but it could be like a fun surprise for later, or something like that.

She got up, stopping to looking at Matty for a moment, “red or white- wait, you know what, just come with.” She gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen, and Matty couldn’t help but look a rather taken aback, and glance momentarily back at George, who gave him a nod, before sharing a look with Ross, that Matty decided he didn’t want to worry himself with, and instead just followed Ellie into the kitchen.

Ellie was pretty, Matty finally took the time to notice, with shoulder length dark hair, and blue eyes, and a very determined look in her eyes as she picked a couple of wine bottles out of Ross’ cupboard. Matty wasn’t entirely sure why she’d called him over, especially as she seemed confident in choosing the wine herself, but he wasn’t quite sure if it was rude to bring it up or not, and he’d came to conclude that maybe he’d quite like it if she didn’t hate him.

“Red.” He finally came to speak, blushing a little as he caught her gaze. “Red wine, that’s what I-”

She nodded, smiling, before leaning back against the countertop and facing him. “I get you. It’s fine. You kind of seem like you’re shitting yourself in there, and I wanted to let you know that I’m not here to judge you, neither’s Rachel.” Matty had to admit to himself that ‘Rachel’ was low down the list of names he would have guessed. “You had a tough time, we all have tough times, it’s alright. Maybe not the best way to deal with things, but it’s alright, and you’re here now and you’re trying, and if I or anyone was going to judge you for that that then you’ve got the right to punch them right in the face.”

Matty laughed a little, tucking his hair back behind his ears. “Yeah, I… thanks. I get nervous a lot, I guess.” He glanced up at her, offering a thankful kind of smile, or at least he hoped it came across that way. “George said he’d punch anyone that did. Very lovely of him, really.”

She smiled, picking another a bottle of wine, and Matty took a moment to wonder just how much she planned on drinking, but then again, it wasn’t really his place to judge. “You’re cute together. He really cares about you, that’s obvious.”

“I mean, he puts up with me, so-” Ellie seemed rather insistent on not letting Matty finish.

“Don’t put yourself down. He  _ cares _ about you, he’s a bit of an idiot, because really I don’t know what he was doing with that other girl for like three months, but you really do mean the world to him, I could tell that in a minute.” She smiled at him, “come on, do you think this is enough or should we grab another bottle.”

Matty found himself grimacing at the mention of Saffy, who he’d done his best to mostly erase from his memory, and with that nodded to her. “Yeah, go for another bottle.” It was however, relieving to find that someone else was just as comfortable in their dislike of her, because through it all, Matty couldn’t help but feel like he’d just been a bit jealous, and he definitely didn’t want to be the bitchy jealous one.

Ellie seemed to recognise something in the look in his eyes, “it wasn’t your fault, you know? I don’t know the whole of it, but you definitely weren’t in the wrong, okay? And you shouldn’t think that you were.” 

Before Matty could quite produce any form of reply, Ellie had opened the kitchen door again, and started carrying the wine back into the living room. He wondered if that was such a bad thing at all, because really, as much as the insecurities at the back of his mind fought to disagree, she was right.

-

It had been October. It had been louder, darker, walls seeming closer together, but every crack and mark remained the same, because there wasn’t too much a place could really change in the matter of eight months. It had been down to Matty, however, to become a different person. Different didn’t mean better, but different didn’t mean worse, different just meant change, and that was just natural, after all.

October eighteenth, or something like that - he couldn’t be exactly too sure upon the date, but it had been around the middle of October, just as the colder weather really began to take its toll. They struggled to make their way over to Ross’ house through a slight drizzle that had quickly turned into a heavy shower - they’d ended up drenched the both of them - Matty and George. It took ten minutes, before Matty declared that it was all too much and his hair was ruined, so they’d ran for shelter into the Tesco around the corner - it was sort of halfway between their house and Ross’.

Matty had grovelled onto George for a good ten minutes about how they should really get a car or something, even though they lived in London, and never really went far, because Matty hated public transport, and yet he also hated walking, especially when it was raining. George had simply ended up smiling and nodding occasionally as he continued to groan on, sending Ross a text that they’d be a little late, as Matty camped himself out under a hand dryer in the toilets attempting to dry his hair. He gotten quite a lot of looks, but no one had really dared to say anything with George stood next to him, glaring back at everyone with an equally as defensive kind of look.

The one thing Matty couldn’t get out his memory, however, was this one guy, not particularly intimidating looking, at around forty, already balding, perhaps older, but with a young face, glasses, wearing a sweater and a pair of jeans. He looked between Matty and George for a brief moment, before turning to address Matty himself, his tone by no means threatening, perhaps more humorous than anything, but there was no denying that it had definitely struck a chord with him.

It was really more  _ what _ he’d said as opposed to  _ how _ he’d said it, though. “Can I ask you to move out of the way or is your boyfriend going to beat me up if I try?”

Matty had remembered his eyes going wide, not entirely sure what the guy had meant at first, until it had all clicked -  _ George _ . He never said anything in response, finding himself flushing an awful shade of red as he stumbled to his feet, attempting to fix his hair the best he could before stumbling out of the toilets, George at his heels.

It had just felt weird, and as Matty thought about it later on, he gathered that the man hadn’t really meant much by it, but there had definitely been something that had gone off in Matty’s brain then at the mention of George being his  _ boyfriend _ . Because, as close as they’d ever been, no one had really said anything quite like that, quite so directly, and the thing had been that Matty hadn’t been at all sure how it had made him feel.

He’d resorted, however, to push those kind of thoughts away and deal with it all later, and burst back into conversation as they made it through the aisles of the store. George thought best not to make much of it, and laugh at Matty’s terrible attempt at humour, before he came to the alcohol aisle and picked up a bottle of red wine.

George had come to remind him that there would be more than enough to drink there, it being a party, after all, but Matty shook his head, feeling some sort of importance, something he couldn’t quite explain as he held that particular bottle of wine in his hand and looked at George through vision that wasn’t quite blurred enough, and thought of him through a mind that wasn’t quite irrational enough, because it wasn’t until the night was over, and Matty woke up the next morning with his head pressed against Ross’ fridge, having somehow managed to curl up and go to sleep on the kitchen countertop, that he could quite get the word ‘boyfriend’ out of his head.

-

It only really hit him once they’d made it back into the living room, him and Ellie, and he’d sat back down next to George, perhaps a little too close to George, but perhaps Matty had been a little too close to not giving a fuck. He placed the bottle of wine Ellie had left him to carry down on the coffee table, and Ross looked between the two of them, eyes wide.

“How much alcohol are we talking?” He scoffed, glancing across at Adam, who didn’t really seem at all that fussed by it. 

“How much alcohol do you have in your house?” Ellie rolled her eyes, mocking his tone slightly, opening a bottle and pouring herself a drink.

“Well, it’s not like it goes off particularly quickly is it?” Ross rolled his eyes, pouring himself a glass. “I like to stock up when it’s on offer.” He looked down at the glass, looking particularly embarrassed.

“Well, then, it’s not like you’re going to mind if we drink just a bit.” Ellie leaned back in her sit, sipping at the glass of wine, and with that, the others moved to pour themselves drinks, and Ross continued to sit there, sort of half sulking, and a little bit hung up about his disappointing skills when it came to cocktail mixing.

Matty, however, sat there, eyes wide, hand reaching out and picking up the bottle of wine.  _ The  _ bottle. It all came back to him very suddenly, this was the very same wine that he’d held in that aisle of Tesco so many months ago, and he wasn’t entirely sure why it suddenly seemed to hold so much meaning, because honestly, it had really been all that  _ good _ either. Of course, though, it had never been the wine itself, but what had lead him to buy it.

He placed it back down on the table, hesitant to actually pour himself a drink as of yet, and instead looked to George, watching the way he fell back into a casual kind of conversation with the others, and seeing for the first time, that really, much like himself, George really wasn’t the same person he’d been that night in October. Matty wasn’t sure how he’d failed to notice, but he just wasn’t the only person who’d changed amidst this all. 

Matty thought for a moment if the change in George was for better or for worse, and to even consider which George he prefered, but that was all  _ bullshit _ , because you didn’t consider a person as each change and variation of themselves laid back across a timeline, but as the whole figure you saw in front of you in that moment. And suddenly, Matty was just a whole lot more comfortable with change when he came to accept that George was changing too right beside him.

The word ‘boyfriend’, however, still seemed to take the liberty of echoing rather ominously around his head, because that still meant something, but just in a very different way. Back so many months ago, Matty had found himself bewildered and a little intimidated by the prospect, but he sat now, in May, in Ross’ living room, and came to accept that it seemed like that’d be something they’d get to.

Really, the more he thought about it, and he found himself suddenly incapable of doing much else, he came to realise that he rather liked the idea of George being his boyfriend. As a concept itself, it was something that Matty found himself drawn to, it was just the complications otherwise that halted him slightly, it was just the worries of taking things too fast and one of them getting left behind somewhere. The thing was, however, that as he thought about it even more, he came to realise that it had always been as such, much more so on a subconscious level, but he’d never really minded the idea at all, and it had all just came rushing up to a much more conscious level of his brain like a slap in the face that night in October.

Matty laughed a little, wondering if he could possibly try and trace it back to something, but came to conclude that it’d come naturally to him at some point, like this had, and if it didn’t, then perhaps it wasn’t so important after all. He had never been one to put trust in ‘fate’, in the way things happened around him, in anyone or anything at all, but everything was changing after all.

“Hey.” George’s fingers curled around his wrist, voice slightly hushed as he came to notice the way Matty had faded away a little. He followed Matty’s gaze to the bottle of wine. “Are you okay?”

Matty nodded, turning to him and smiling, “Yeah, I am.” He moved so he was spread out across the sofa, back pressed against one arm rest, and legs spreading out across George’s lap. “Pour me a drink, will you?” He met George’s gaze and nodded towards the table.

George laughed, shaking his head slightly, “get one yourself.”

Matty pouted, doing his best to look severely traumatised by his inability to reach the table from where he was sat. “ _ George…”  _ He let out a sigh, “ _ please _ …”

“Why?” George asked, already half way to leaning forward and just getting him one, mostly to shut him up for the time being. “Why should I?”

Matty pouted, making himself out to look entirely distressed by the whole situation. “Because you love me.” He only really came to realise the slightly heavier connotations of what he’d said once the words had left his mouth, but that was also once George had leaned forward and poured him a drink.

And really, Matty just couldn’t deny the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach as he held the glass in one hand, sipping at it slightly, and coming to remember, that the one thing that hadn’t changed since that night in October was this wine, because it still tasted kind of shit.

Perhaps that was okay, perhaps that meant something in this all, or perhaps it didn’t mean a thing at all. Perhaps the only thing that it held was the power to highlight Ross’ incredibly poor choice in alcoholic beverages, and how easily he was swayed by half price deals.

After all, it wasn’t so much about the wine itself, but the way it made him feel. Not about the sensation of  _ being _ drunk, but the act of getting so. Not so much about being who they were, but just how they’d gotten there. 

-

After quite a few hours and maybe a little much to drink, they made their way out to Ross’ front door. It had been alright, overall - the good kind of alright, it had been worth going to, it had been nice, really, Matty was just a little reluctant in admitting that to himself, as he found himself straddling the line between drunk and tipsy. Not that the slightest differentiation between the two mattered all that much, but he found that his current state of mind at least ensured that he didn’t have to think so much.

It was as Matty managed to pull his shoes on, leaving back against the wall, tracing a slight dent in it with his fingers, that Ross reappeared from the living room, wincing slightly as he walked into the hallway, as if he feared that he’d catch them making out again, which really wasn’t the most ridiculous of fears, as Matty would argue that it was incredibly likely that it would happen again. He’d have to consult with George first, though.

“Thanks for this, it was nice, wasn’t it?” George grabbed his jacket, shrugging it over his shoulders, and turning back to Matty, meeting him with an impatient kind of look, however Matty’s brain still took a moment or so to catch up.

“Yeah, it was.” Matty nodded, turning to the mirror placed on the edge of a shelf, and taking this as a perfect opportunity to adjust his hair. It really hadn’t looked as good as it had when he’d left the house, and then it had hardly been perfect to begin with. He began to twirl it around his fingers absent mindedly, wondering if it really mattered all that much - it was just hair, after all. “Thanks.”

Ross smiled, watching as Matty messed with his hair for a while, before turning back to George. He was getting better, that was evident, although quite hard for Ross to really understand in full, but perhaps he’d just have to accept that this fell more on George than it did on him. As, after all, he’d never really understand it to begin with, and George, of course, had.

“Hey, uhh… George,” He nodded in his direction, “can I talk to you a minute?” He gestured back to the living room: now empty, as Matty and George were the last to make it out of the door.

George glanced across to Matty - it was something he did without much thought, and it was as he thought about it that he began to wonder just why he’d come to need Matty’s input on something like this. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, and it wasn’t like that he’d ignore what he knew to be right in his own head on the basis of Matty’s request. It was just a sort of Matty and George thing, he figured.

Matty didn’t bother to look away from the mirror, and indeed his own reflection, still messing with his hair, despite the fact, that in George’s mind, at least, it had only ever looked fine. He gave a small nod as he did so, and George took that to be in response to the matter at hand, although there was quite the possibility that it wasn’t, but still, as he followed Ross back into the living room, Matty made very little effort to protest.

George wasn’t entirely sure what it was that Ross had needed to take him away privately for, but he found that his best guess was that it related to Matty. He stood by the table, watching as Ross sat down on the edge of the sofa, clearing some mess around it, including a glass, and a twenty pence coin, and an orange jelly baby that he was pretty sure had fossilised at this point. 

Ross let out a sigh, looking up and holding George’s gaze for a moment, wondering if there was perhaps a better way to phrase it, wondering if perhaps this was something he should restrain from telling him, but he had this kind of protective gut feeling, and he just couldn’t ignore it. Eventually, he just came out with it, as plainly as possible. “So… he loves you, you know?”

George swallowed, his breath seeming to lodge in his throat for a moment or two, as he ran the words back around his head. Ross’ eyes grew wide and impatient as he awaited some form of response, and really, George didn’t quite know what to say, because on a certain level, he knew, of course he knew, but it was kind of different to hear it thrown out at you like that by someone else.

“I know,” was all George could quite come to in the end, but it seemed to suffice for the time being.

“He’s going to break if you fuck this up, you know?” Ross continued, stretching his arms out as he spoke. “And we thought it was bad before, but I imagine it’d be worse, and I’m speaking to you as his friend, and honestly, if you fuck this up, I don’t even care how complicated it makes things, but if you fuck him up again, then I will kill you.”

George couldn’t help but feel that things had escalated pretty quickly, and as much as he felt suddenly very uncomfortable, he had to admit that Ross had a point, and a valuable one at that. “I know.” He nodded, biting his lip, “I’m not going to. He means the world to me.”

“I really hope you don’t.” Ross got up from the sofa, pulling George into a quick hug. “We’re best mates, but things change a little with… things like this, you know? And it’s just with what happened last time. No hard feelings, I promise.”

George gave him a smile in response, “I know. I get where you’re coming from. It’ll be okay this time, I promise. Things just… we didn’t talk about things last time.”

“I know.” Ross nodded, glancing up at the clock on the wall behind him. “See you, get home safe, at least wait until you’re out of my house before sucking his face off.” George groaned, shaking his head in embarrassment, and really, Ross couldn’t help but laugh, despite the fact that he’d been the one to walk in on it and remain emotionally scarred forever. “Oh, and…” He paused, grabbing George by the shoulder, “talk to him about seeing a doctor, will you? He’s going to listen to you more than he’s going to listen to me, and it’s important, you know that, don’t you?”

George nodded, not entirely looking forward to that conversation, but accepting that Ross was right - it was one that they needed to have. “I will. See you.” He gave Ross a nod, before making his way back into the hallway, to find that Matty had finally stopped messing with his hair, but had apparently given up instead, and tied it back into a bun.

Matty looked up from his phone, having resorted to scrolling mindlessly through twitter while he waited, as George pulled his shoes on. He smiled across at him, pushing his phone back into his pocket, and turning back to the mirror, suddenly so very conscious of his appearance again.

“Your hair looks nice like that.” George added, watching Matty adjust it incessantly. “I mean it. Come on, let’s go.” He reached for Matty’s hand as he opened the door, coming close to dragging him outside. The thing was that Matty was just awfully reluctant to let go; he just found that he really liked holding George’s hand.

Once they had began the walk home, Matty’s hand still in George’s, and silence began to take its toll: George’s mind still back in the living room with Ross, and wondering just what had led him to address it quite so directly. The thing was that, Matty’s mind was there also, and it was chewing away at him from the inside, and of course, the eventuality with that, was that he’d come to break the silence, come to voice it all aloud, and in this case, that eventuality came awfully soon.

“This sounds kind of bad, but I heard most of what Ross said to you.” Matty let out a sigh, focusing more on the world around them than George, despite speaking to him, and not to the rows of houses, tightly packed onto either side of the street, or the few people making their way down the pavements, or the steady, yet continuous passing of cars across the street that separated the two halves of the street. Or the lamp posts, just beginning to produce a dim, yet golden, and a rusty, yet warming glow, as the sky, now devoid of sunlight, continued to grow darker, steadily amassing darker and darker shades of navy blue.

“Oh.” George found that, much as he had when Ross had originally brought him into the living room, he didn’t quite know what to say. He wasn’t really the best when it came to thinking on his feet, it seemed.

Matty came to continue rather quickly, although his gaze still remained distant, watching birds travel off over the horizon in the far distance. “I wasn’t listening in, or anything, it was just… the walls are pretty thin, and you didn’t actually close the door properly. I mean, you were talking about me, so it’s not like I didn’t already know, so…” Matty trailed off, taking in a sharp intake of breath. “I don’t think I’d let Ross kill you, honestly, even if you did break my heart or something.”

George was a little surprised that it was that which Matty came to comment upon first. “Would you not think I’d deserve it?” George found that Matty finally drew his gaze back to meet his. “I mean, that’d be a pretty dick move. Like such a fucking dick move.”

“If Ross killed you, then one of my friends would be dead and the other one would be in prison, and I’d have to go and live in the cupboard under Hann’s stairs or something, like Harry fucking Potter.” Matty grimaced at the notion, not that he had anything against Adam, or Harry Potter, or cupboards under the stairs, for that matter. “Maybe he’d let me sleep on his sofa.” Matty shrugged, “who knows? I mean, let’s not find out.”

George scoffed, laughing a little, but finding that he pulled Matty a little closer to him. “Okay, not  _ literally _ kill me, but, I’d deserve a pretty good kick to the balls. You’ve got to agree?”

Matty paused for a moment, stopping still on the pavement, and turning to hold George’s gaze fully. “If it’s not going to happen then why are we worrying about it?” He bit his lip, watching as George came to struggle for a response, finding for a moment, that he, himself, didn’t quite know why either.

“You brought it up.” George mumbled, blushing a little, “I didn’t imagine that you would, really, I… guess the whole… love thing… or something.”

“George…” Matty trailed off, finding himself far more calm than he’d be with this all if he was completely sober. “You knew it, I knew it. It’s just a  _ thing _ .”

“Should we talk about it?” George asked, continuing to walk again, and finding that he was dragging Matty behind him for just a while. “Do you think?”

Matty nodded, knowing that George was right in the fact that they should. “Not here, though, when we get home.”

“Yeah.” George agreed, glancing around them as they made it off down onto another street. “Not on the road outside Tesco, that’s probably best.”

Matty grinned for a moment, glancing across at the Tesco as he held George’s hand in his. “Do you remember?” He gestured vaguely across at it. “In October.”

“No, surprisingly, Matty, I don’t remember every individual time we’ve gone down to buy some bread-”

“No, it was different.” Matty explained, sighing a little. “We were on our way to Ross’, October, yeah? For a party, and it started raining, like proper chucking it down on the way there, so we ran into Tesco for shelter, and I was like trying to dry my hair in the toilets for about thirty five minutes.”

George paused for a moment, finding that slowly, it was coming back to him, although he couldn’t quite figure out as to why Matty had regarded that as any form of important or special memory in his mind. “And then you insisted on buying some shitty wine, yeah?”

“It was the same wine from earlier, the shit one.” Matty explained, although George still wasn’t entirely sure as to quite what his point was here. “That’s why I remembered.”

“So…?” George didn’t want to come across as rude, but he was really still searching for the point in all of this, and by the look in Matty’s eyes, there was no denying that there was one.

“It wasn’t really about the wine or anything else.” Matty continued, biting at his fingernails. “There was this guy there that called you my boyfriend. In the toilets, and I didn’t know why that struck something with me like it did, but I guess I know now.” He paused, thinking for a moment, “it was that I really never minded, you know? Quite liked the idea. And I couldn’t quite understand that then, you know, still thinking I was straight.”

“So you’re… you’re saying you want to be my boyfriend here?” George asked, not sure if Matty had gotten quite to that point yet, but suspecting that even if he was unaware of it, it was there somewhere.

“George.” Matty rolled his eyes, almost as if the idea was utterly preposterous, which certainly caught him by surprise. “You absolutely can’t be my boyfriend when you haven’t even taken me on one date, and no, there’s no way in hell that this counts, so shut up.”

George couldn’t help but blush, thinking to himself for a minute or so, before turning to face Matty again. “So what kind of thing would you have in mind by a date?”

“I think the idea is that you come with up, otherwise it’d really be me taking  _ you _ on a date, wouldn’t it?” Matty grinned, knowing full well that this just wasn’t the kind of conversation he’d have so calmly sober, so maybe the shitty wine did mean something after all.

“And what’s wrong with that?” George asked, very genuinely. “You should take me on a date.”

“George do you remember that one girl called like Hannah or something, that I took on a date once and she ended up getting food poisoning? I’m not good at taking people on dates.” Matty grimaced a little at the memory. “Do you  _ want _ food poisoning?”

“For a start, the food poisoning wasn’t your fault, also you were literally thirteen.” George shook his head for a moment, coming to accept that Matty maybe wasn’t going to give up on this one.

“I was  _ fourteen _ , George,  _ fourteen _ ! Do you even know me at all?” 

“Okay.” George gave Matty’s hand a squeeze. “Alright then, I’ll surprise you.”

“You mean take the time to text everyone you know for suggestions, make a mindmap of ideas, circle the best ones in highlighter, make an online poll that you again send to everyone you know, and do the one with the highest votes.”

“Matty, that’s ridiculous-”

“When you were  _ seventeen _ -”

“You know what? I don’t want to relive that memory, okay?” George groaned, shaking his head. “Maybe we’re both bad at dates, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, maybe you should take me on one just to test that theory.” Matty continued to insist.

“I promise you now, I am not at all liable for everything that can and will go wrong.” George groaned, however finding that he was unable to settle the butterflies in his stomach, and the glowing sensation they seemed to radiate from inside him.

-

“Would you really want to get punched in the face?” 

Matty’s question had come seemingly out of nowhere: stemming from thoughts that had occurred previously in the day, from conversations they’d once been so tangled up in, but had now all faded out into the calm and quiet of the late evening, the dim glow of the living room light, the TV on in the background, on a low volume as neither of the two were really paying much attention. 

They sat curled up on the sofa, a mess of limbs constructed as if they’d made a game out of getting the most points of contact between the two of them, blurring the line between where Matty ended and George began. It didn’t matter much in the darkened interior of the room, with Allen curled up behind them, empty mugs of tea on the coffee table, and an invisible weight pushing down heavy eyelids.

George had been coming close to suggesting that they go to bed before they fell asleep, ready to make some joke about how he didn’t much fancy carrying him into bed, but with Matty’s sudden outburst of speech, it came to appear that perhaps he wasn’t quite so at rest as George had come to assume. His tone, however, was still slowed slightly: a hesitant kind of mumble that came to reflect the tone of someone wavering over the line between states of consciousness.

“What?” George was evidently less with it than Matty was, struggling to recall as to quite what it was that Matty found it necessary to be referring to. “What are you on about?”

“Earlier. About what Ross said, about if things went shit.” There was no question about it now - it had been on Matty’s mind, and it had made quite the point out of being so. “Would you really? Like honestly?”

“I mean, I was imagining that it wouldn’t come to that, because you know, I don’t really have any plans to fuck things up again. I’m trying really hard not to, you know?” George glanced across at Matty, pulling him into his side with a sigh. “But I’d deserve it, wouldn’t I?”

“What if  _ I _ fucked things up?” Matty came to wonder, again not that he was planning to, but he found that he couldn’t quite avoid the thought of it. “What if I did? What if it was my fault, would you get Ross to punch me in the face?”

“No-, of course not. I…” George trailed off, biting his lip momentarily. “Ross wouldn’t do that. No one would do that, Matty don’t talk like that. I mean, you’re not planning to so-”

“Why would that be?” Matty reached for the remote, turning the TV, darkening the room significantly, but George’s face was still decently visible at the distance Matty sat away from him, which really wasn’t much of a distance at all. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s…” George paused for a moment, finding that he, himself, wasn’t at all that sure. “It’s… you… look, I guess, it’s because I fucked up before, isn’t it? And then, you, you’re kind of… you’ve got these panic attacks and things, and it’s how you think, and then you fuck up, but it’s not your fault, because it’s how you think, and that wouldn’t be fair, I don’t think.”

“I don’t get how making things different for another person is anyway more fair-”

“Also you’re about half the size of me. If you punched me, for example, I’m not suggesting you  _ should _ , right now, but if you did, I mean it’d hurt, but like if I punched you I’d-”

“It’s not about the punching, it’s not about any of that shit that Ross said. Killing and all that.” Matty cut him off, shaking his head. “It’s not about that, it’s about… How you’d agree for that to happen, because you’d know you’d deserve it.”

“I would.” George nodded, “hypothetically, of course, I’m definitely not planning anything.”

“It’s about trusting you, completely, with everything, and how that feels weird, but I still feel safe, I feel better, I feel like… things  _ are _ different, but suddenly there’s no such thing as regression. Like there’s no getting worse, like things  _ can’t _ get worse, because I’ve had the worst, and things can only get better, but then I don’t know if I can trust that, but I have to, because I trust you. With everything.” Matty let out an awkward kind of choked sob, not at all sure how and when he’d felt tears pooling in his eyes. “And I don’t know if you can ever fully understand what that means for me, for us, but I guess, this is… like… I...  l-”

Matty was cut off, George reaching up and pulling him into a kiss, the two somehow managing to get closer to one another than they had been before, and in the time it lasted, the rest of the world just seemed to melt away into nothingness, into irrelevance, and various shades of grey around them.

“Matty,” George sighed, pulling away, but still making a point of holding him close. “I don’t need to fully understand it, I don’t need you to understand it yourself either. The thing is, I just need you to know that I feel it too. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

Matty nodded, “that’s enough. That’s more than enough.” 

Really, it was everything.

-


	8. brought to u by not to disappear by daughter an absolutely 10/10 album

Matty had gotten better at spending time not just with other people, but with himself too. It was all as a result of getting just that bit more comfortable inside his own head; the thing was that now he did finally feel as if he somewhat belonged. It was always a very odd thing to feel out of place in your own head, of all things, but Matty found that was just how it had been, regardless of complications or particularities. 

He’d pulled himself together quite a bit more over the past few weeks, and as much as he had found that he did indeed rely on George quite an awful lot, he found that he could spend the day alone, with George at work, without having his whole world coming caving on him at about twenty past ten.

All in all, he’d gotten more to grips with himself, and gained a certain kind of peace with his mind in the process. He’d managed to start writing again - it was the flow of ideas, of feelings, of emotion, of something meaningful through his veins, that had compelled him to do so. He wouldn’t say that the work he’d produced was particularly worthy of much critical acclaim, but he’d hardly go as far as to say so much about the majority of his work. The fact of the matter was that there words on the page: slowing coming together like the pieces of his life and the person he might someday want to be. It had seemed so impossible from afar, but as he’d come closer to it all, upon further inspection, everything did seem to just fit perfectly into place.

The weather grew warmer all too quickly - very much unexpected due to the British climate, but it wasn’t something that Matty could really find himself much reason to complain about at all. It was also that, in a weird way, it wasn’t just the weather, but the world felt warmer too.

He wondered if it was just his change in perspective - just him growing sappy, just melancholic drivel turning into an almost sickly sweet admiration of the world, and an admiration of how it had shaped itself around him, of how he had found his way back into everything again. He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but something had changed - something had switched in his brain, and there was no denying that it was an important kind of something. 

Suddenly there was joy to be had in everything, in the sun on his skin, in the world getting warmer, in their shitty little house, with every room too small, and with Allen, with walks in the park, with afternoons spent in the even shittier and even littler back garden, pulling absent mindedly at daisies amongst the grass, with mornings inside, with mornings starting early, with mornings starting late, spent with the familiar tapping of his fingers hitting the keys of his typewriter, with life settling into a whole new era, with everything turning on its head, but seeming so familiar at the same time.

Matty wasn’t quite sure what it was, and what it could ever be, because as all change, it was indeed gradual, and only seemed to hold any much weight once you stopped for a moment and found yourself looking back on the person you had used to be, and how you never saw the same reflection in the mirror anymore. He had at first regarded change with resentment, fixing himself and his life to be pointless because there was never anything to say that it was broken, but he just didn’t feel like he was that person at all anymore.

He did wonder, eyes set on the window, watching the morning progress into a sunny afternoon, watching the trees sway slightly in the breeze, and feeling the very same breeze on his skin through the open window. Somehow, it was more than just a breeze, and it was more than just a morning turned afternoon, because that was perhaps the first moment that Matty really felt that he belonged.

The first moment that he really could sit in his chair, in his room, in his house, and for it to be  _ his _ house, and not just the house he was living in. For with the breeze on his skin, the world felt like  _ his _ world, and not just the world around him, for suddenly him and the world were not two separate entities, closed off from one another, but living as one. It was that first moment, where he felt a part of the room, a part of the world, and not as if he was etched in half heartedly at the last minute.

It was the breeze itself, of course, but the realisation, and the sudden rush of thoughts to his head, and the way his brain always spiralled out of control when he sat down at his desk, because he’d come to realise that he sat down at his desk not just to write, but to think too. He had learned however, that perhaps spiralling out of control was not always a bad thing, despite what he’d originally thought.

That moment he had not just finally felt that he belonged, but he had come to realise something too. He’d come to latch onto the odd kind of feelings taking up a new residence in his chest: grasping onto his heart with thousands of tiny little hands, but this time, they weren’t forceful, dragging his heart down from his chest and into the pit of his stomach, but instead gentle: reaching out not to grab or pull but just to touch, just to feel the beating, just to feel what it meant to be alive. He’d come to comprehend just how everything had changed, because the very moment that he finally came to put things into words, was the very moment that he came to put things with their meaning, and everything just became that whole lot clearer.

What was so very immediately obvious was that he’d been wrong at first. He’d been wrong with his instinct and he first thought - one he hadn’t even second guessed, but one that was just so obvious now. As that was the thing, there had always been an obvious kind of something behind this all, behind the way his world had changed, behind the way he had changed with it, behind the new kind of fuller smiles that he carried on his face, behind the content look in his eyes - unspoken, but speaking so fully of the peace he had found with the world, with the peace he had found with himself.

There it was - it had been clear for far too long. He had fallen in love, but not with his own life and the world around him, but with George. 

The love he’d felt for everything else had come second - a byproduct, but a very welcome one, no question about that. After all, that was the thing, they sat around some days, just the two of them, doing very little of notice at all, perhaps not even talking, perhaps with Matty reading a book and George on his laptop, taking a very important journey through his instagram feed, perhaps doing so very little at all. But that was the thing, in that, in so very much less than nothingness, Matty found a warm glowing feeling in his chest, he found himself happy, not just content or complacent, but properly  _ happy _ . 

It was that, as he might look up from whatever he’d been reading, and look across the room at George, and feel that feeling in his chest burning brighter, that he came to realise that there was nothing else he’d want more, because as simple as everything was, he was in love, and sitting there, doing so very little at all, was George; he was so effortlessly beautiful, and just so effortlessly everything Matty had ever needed in his life. 

Those kind of revelations couldn’t help but make Matty feel a little dizzy sometimes, but perhaps it wasn’t the revelations themselves but the realisation he’d managed to lock all of these feelings so tightly up inside himself for so long, and he’d made it through those four months, without George, without anyone, without himself. As he was now, Matty concluded that he just wouldn’t be able to do that ever again, and that he had nothing to do but cling so tightly onto the life he had now, because he absolutely could not let himself fuck it all up again this time.

As tragically cliched and optimistic as it was, Matty couldn’t help but hold onto a gut kind of feeling, or perhaps just a wild hope, that everything really would work out this time - that this was everything falling into place, and that it wasn’t just chance, but meaning and reason. Things were going to work out this time, and this window of happiness, this spell of summer, and glowing of his heart, this wasn’t just a moment to pass him by, but something permanent - something he could hold onto. Not a window, not even a door, but the world on the other side, and he’d made it there this time around.

George was still to take Matty on a proper date, which was something Matty had taken up the persistent liberty of nagging him about, usually when they ate dinner, sat sometimes even properly at the table these days, because when they ate at the table instead of in front of the TV, or as they had a few times, in bed, George always actually made more of an effort to cook something nice, and as much Matty didn’t want to be every sappy romantic cliche, he was a little bit in love with that too.

He knew George was working on it, and by working on it, he was frantically messaging everyone he knew for advice, which Matty really couldn’t help but find awfully sweet, but then again, it had gotten to the point where Matty had accepted that his whole view of George and everything he did was just so horribly skewed in perception at this point, and maybe that was a bad thing. Maybe he shouldn’t be so readily putting every little bit of his trust in George, but the thing was that he found that he’d never had all that much trust in himself, and it didn’t really have where else to go.

Really, Matty would be happy to be officially George’s boyfriend on the spot, no questions asked, but he’d already insisted on a proper date, and he most certainly wasn’t going to turn his back on that one. Mostly, Matty just liked being a prat to him about it, as after all, mostly, Matty just liked being a prat, and wondering how on earth George not only put up with him, but loved him.

Matty had spent his Friday afternoon writing, and found that some unknown force had come and blessed him with a whole world of inspiration that day. That ‘unknown force’ may or may not have been the face George had made the previous night when Matty had told him to stop being such a sop and kissing him and let him go to sleep. That ‘unknown force’ may have also extended to the whole night, with the two laid as close to one another as possible, and Matty’s whole world spinning on its head, but with the revelation that maybe this wasn’t upside down but the right way up, and that things had been the wrong wrong all along.

By the time George had gotten home from work, he’d made it back from walking Allen just fifteen minutes ago, and had ended up on the sofa, with Allen curled up next to his feet. He’d lit up a spliff, even though George always hated when he smoked weed without him, but he’d definitely made a point of sending him at least seven snapchats of him doing so, so that practically made up for it. 

George made his way into the living room, opening the last few snapchats Matty had sent him, as he dumped a Tesco bag onto the table in front of him. “Put that stuff away in the kitchen, won’t you, babe?”

Matty looked up, narrowing his eyes at George. “Don’t ‘babe’ me.” He shook his head, giving George a shove as he leaned over his shoulder to look at his phone. 

“Matty?” George looked up at him, shaking his head. “So I’ve been at work, and you’ve put the dog filter on Allen and sent it to me on snapchat?” He raised his eyebrows slightly, and Matty couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you should at least put the shopping away, you know?”

“Fine.” Matty rolled his eyes, making much of a scene out of getting up and grabbing the bag than was necessary. “What did you even get anyway?” He asked, already opening and rummaging through the bag himself.

George reached up towards Matty’s outstretched hand and pulled his spliff from between his fingers, smoking it himself.

“ _ Hey _ .” Matty shot him a glare: entirely offended.

“You were gonna drop it, you weren’t being careful at all.” George leaned back in the sofa, rubbing Allen’s head as he moved in closer to George with Matty now inspecting every single item he’d picked up from the Tesco down the road. “I confiscated it for health and safety reasons, really.”

Matty scoffed, not at all convinced, but then again, it wasn’t like George had put up the most convincing argument at all in the first place. “You need to stop buying that dodgy ham you know I don’t like it.” He turned back to George, having successfully examined every single item George had bought.

“Dodgy ham.” George repeated, snorting a little, unable to do much but shake his head at the passion in Matty’s voice as he held a packet of ham up to him in one hand. 

“It is!” Matty insisted, throwing it back into the bag. “It’s slimy - who wants slimy ham?”

“It’s  _ fine _ , Matty.” George assured him, continuing to smoke Matty’s spliff without much of an intervention from him.

“Might be for you. Some of us actually have  _ standards _ .  _ God _ .” Matty rolled his eyes, taking the bag and making his way into the kitchen, proceeding to unpack it despite how much he had protested otherwise just a few minutes before.

Matty returned from the kitchen within a few minutes, sitting himself down in George’s lap without any word of warning, allowing George instead to roll his eyes and move so that Matty at least wasn’t cutting off the blood circulation in  _ both _ of his legs.

“Hey…” Matty turned so he was sat at angle in which he could better face George, but all in all, it was hardly the comfiest of positions for either of them, but of course, Matty was a stubborn piece of shit who wasn’t going to move. “That was  _ my _ spliff.” He looked between George and the ashtray placed on the end of the coffee table in disgust and disappointment.

George grinned, stretching out against the sofa, attempting to go some blood flowing around the parts of his body that Matty wasn’t currently squashing. “It’s not like you can’t roll yourself another, is it?”

“ _ Still _ .” Matty protested, reaching towards the table, making sure to make as much of a scene out of rolling himself a spliff as was possible. “It was mine.” He reminded him, settling back into George’s lap, stretching his legs out across the sofa length ways - over George and beside Allen, who was curled up beside them. “And so’s this one.”

“I’ve been at work all day, though, haven’t I?” George wasn’t at all sure why he was still arguing his point - it was over now, and Matty sure as hell wouldn’t budge. “You come home and you kind of need and smoke, don’t you?”

“Mmm…” Matty gave a shrug, suddenly ending up feeling just that little bit guilty, passed George his spliff momentarily. “So how was your day at work then?”

George shrugged, not really thinking all that much of it - he didn’t particularly  _ dislike _ it, but it certainly wasn’t his favourite thing in the world by any measure. “It was alright.”

“Alright?” Matty raised his eyebrows: disappointed with the lacklustre nature of George’s description. “Is that all I’m getting?  _ Alright _ ?”

George groaned - Matty was being pedantic, and he seemed to be just as well aware of it as George was; that didn’t help matters at all. “What else am I supposed to say? Do you want a vivid description of every single little thing I’ve done?” Matty began to nod in agreement. “No you don’t. That’d sent you right to sleep.”

Matty shook his head, smiling across at George. “Nothing you could ever say would make me bored. I love your voice and listening to you talk, I love everything you’d ever have to say, and I want-”

George let out a groan, scrunching up his face in disbelief, closing his eyes for a moment in order to really let what Matty had said sink in. “Stop.” He shook his head, “you’re disgusting, you are.”

Matty looked offended to quite an extent. “Just want to know what’s going on in your life. That’s perfectly normal of me, you’re making things weird.” He hit George with a particularly smug kind of look - adamant in the fact that it was at this point which he’d won.

“Literally nothing, though.” George assured him for what was beginning to feel like the five hundredth time.

Matty was still hesitant to take the truth as it was. “What did you do on your lunch break then?” He leaned closer to George, resting his elbow against the back of the sofa, and resting his head against his hand.

“Do you want me to describe the process of eating sandwiches to you? In vivid detail?” George raised his eyebrows, beginning to be just that little bit amused by all of this; Matty was acting weird, but really it was only significant in the fact that something had changed inside him, and George was just so very keen to ask Matty what he had done with his day.

“Yes.” Matty nodded, blushing a little as George continued to laugh. “Well, not specifically your sandwiches…” He continued, his tone quickly becoming less serious. “Just… whatever.”

George’s face fell into a warm kind of genuine smile. “Well, I had sandwiches, you know what they had in? That ‘slimy’ ham you’re so pissed off about.”

“You deserve better quality ham, George!” Matty exclaimed, meeting him with a grin. “You deserve better ham. You deserve better.”

“ _ God _ .” George groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “Will you shut up about the ham? It’s  _ ham _ .” He let out a sigh, attempting to compose himself as Matty broke off into an awkward kind of giggle - it was an entirely heart wrenching kind of endearing. “Oh…” George trailed off, grinning. “Something did happen at work today.”

“What?” Matty’s face lit up instantly.

“I forgot to tell you about this girl. I wasn’t sure if she was just being really nice or trying to awkwardly hit on me, but anyway. Today she gave me her number.” He hit Matty with a smirk. “I’m officially attractive now, she’s like a good nine out of ten.”

“You’re officially  _ my _ boyfriend!” Matty retorted, raising his voice very suddenly. There was an odd kind of desperation hidden behind his words as he knew for the most part, especially from the look on his face, that George was joking, but still he couldn’t help this little pocket of doubt at the back of his mind digging him a nice little hole of self-doubt to lie in.

George grinned, moving so his arm was around Matty, letting him rest his head against his chest, ensuring that he knew he was joking. “Not  _ officially _ , though.” George made a very good point. “What with me not having taken you on a ‘proper’ date yet.”

“You’re still… you’re still… you’re not my ‘official _ proper _ boyfriend’ yet, but you’re still my boyfriend.” Matty let out a sigh, reaching up linking his fingers with George’s. “Tell her she can fuck off.” He added, glancing up at George, who couldn’t help but grin through all of this. “I don’t care if she’s a fucking ‘nine out of ten’, it’s not like you can rate people with numbers anyway, is it?”

“You’re jealous.” George laughed, watching the way Matty’s cheeks instantly flushed a very vivid shade of red. “Don’t worry.” He ran his fingers back through Matty’s hair. “You’re a solid ten out of ten. Strong eleven, really.”

“I don’t want to be rated with a  _ number _ . I’m a person, George.” Matty rolled his eyes, moving so his head fell further across George’s chest. “Anyway. What did you actually say? Like when she gave you her number?”

George shrugged. “I didn’t really say much. I didn’t want to be rude, I just let her give it me.”

“You  _ let _ her give it you!” Matty’s eyes widened, just that little bit outraged, but really the whole tone of their conversation was so very lighthearted, and Matty couldn’t help it anymore with the sheer amount of trust he’d wound up placing in George.

“You can have someone’s number in a friendly way. She’s nice. It wasn’t like I was going to stare her down like ‘sorry my ham hating ten out of ten best friend / not quite boyfriend’ is going to get morally offended by us having any form of conversation because you might have flirted with me once.” George found that realistically he just couldn’t finish his sentence without bursting into a fit of laughter, however, Matty seemed to be very much in the same boat.

“I don’t hate ham.” Matty muttered, choosing that, of all things, to pick up upon. “You just buy shit ham.”

George had come to conclude that maybe he’d just have to accept that Matty wouldn’t leave him alone in regards to his ‘poor choice in ham’. “So, anyway. It’s not like I’m going to hit on her, is it? I love you, you know?”

“You know she doesn’t sound that  _ nice _ .” Matty continued, making much more of a fuss than he should have done. “Attempting to steal you away like that.” George had to scoff at that, and really, Matty couldn’t help but grin a little too. “Who even is she, though? Are you even friends?”

“You’re getting jealous.” George let out a laugh as Matty sat up, stretching out a little. “She’s called Charlie. I’m friends with her friend, really. Her friend’s called Gemma, and she’s nice.”

“Is she trying to hit on you too?” Matty demanded, folding his arms, just a tiny little bit irritated with it all. 

“I’m pretty sure she has a boyfriend.” George assured him. “She did invite me to a party she’s throwing this weekend, though. She also invited at least seven other people from working, so I really doubt she’s trying to get with us all. I did say I couldn’t make it though, are you happy with that?”

Matty thought for a moment, hitting George with an odd kind of perplexed look. “Why did you say you couldn’t make it?”

George shrugged, finding that maybe this wasn’t one of the easiest things to voice aloud. “I mean, I don’t want to leave you alone, that’s not fair, is it? And you’re not really…  _ up  _ to parties. You know what I mean?”

“It’s not fair on you, though.” Matty bit his lip, finding the situation hitting him in an entirely new life this time around. “That’s not fair. Your social life doesn’t have to revolve around me and my mental health.”

“You want me to go?” George raised his eyebrows, unsure as to what it was that Matty was actually getting at here. “Even though Charlie’s going. Who’s obviously going to go and steal me away - Gemma, too, even with her boyfriend. We’ll have a foursome-”

“Do you want me to tell you not to go?” Matty hit him with a look, unsure as to how exactly he did feel inside. “I know you’re not going to… cheat on me… or whatever.”

“Course I’m not.” George assured him, his tone instantly growing that little bit more serious.

“You should do things though. I shouldn’t stop you.” Matty let out a sigh, finding an awkward kind of new feeling unravelling itself inside of him as he spoke. “Maybe I should do things too. I shouldn’t stop myself either.”

“It’s not your fault if you can’t do things, you know that.” George reached his hand out and into Matty’s. “I’m absolutely not going to let you blame yourself.”

Matty shook his head. “I’m not blaming myself. It’s not like that. Text her now, tell her that you actually are coming, but tell her that your boyfriend’s coming too. Also tell her to make sure Charlie knows you have a boyfriend, also tell her to make sure she knows that you have a boyfriend.”

George smiled, his eyes widening a little, hesitant in reaching for his phone. “Are you  _ sure _ ? I mean, you’re not going to know people, and I don’t want you to end up in a state because you wanted to prove something to yourself or whatever kind of bullshit.”

“I should go. We should go. I need to assert myself as your cute and perfect boyfriend who you are very desperately in love with.” Matty insisted, meeting him with a more serious look, before reaching for George’s phone from the table and thrusting into his grasp. “Go on.”

“Promise me.” George began, eyes meeting Matty’s. “You  _ want _ to do this, and you don’t just want to for some bullshit based on jealousy or self-doubt? What if things don’t end up going well?”

“Then we can go home.” Matty insisted, finding his mind spanning back to memories of so many months before. “If we go we can always go home, but if we just stay at home then that’s that. Things don’t change unless you try. I’m starting to think you don’t want to go. I thought you said Gemma was nice.”

“Gemma is.” George assured him, finally going to actually text her an abridged version of what Matty had asked him to. “Maybe Charlie did hit on me quite a bit, and suddenly turning up with my boyfriend might make things a bit awkward.”

“Awkward?” Matty shook his head. “That’s what you’re worried about here? It being a bit awkward? How do you think I’m going to feel regardless?”

George let out a sigh. “Yeah. I guess. I just don’t want you to get upset, alright?”

“George, you know? Despite popular belief, you don’t  _ actually _ need to babysit me.” Matty met him with a grin. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

-

“You know when I said that it was going to be fine?” Matty let out a sigh, sitting himself down on the edge of their bed, glancing ratherly defeatedly across at George, who had ended up sat sideways in the chair at Matty’s desk, leaning over the back to face Matty.

“Mmm?” George gave him a worried kind of glance, knowing that with Matty’s mental health it was very much hit and miss, but there had definitely been some sort of conscious effort into the hole he’d dug himself over the course of the past day.

“It’s not.” Matty threw his head forward into his hands, rubbing his eyes, before letting out a sigh and trying to compose himself the best he could.

Really, everything always seemed much less daunting, much much manageable, the kind of simple it should be when it didn’t feel like it was actually happening, and Matty couldn’t dispute the fact that he was in a state of mind that was something like worlds away from the one he’d been in just the night before.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go anymore, because he did, he wanted to go and he wanted things to be fine, and he didn’t want George to have to prioritise the worst parts of his mind before his own life and things he wanted to do. That wasn’t fair, and if they were going to make things work this time, they had to be fair, things had to be good for the both of them. It was just the horrible feeling of dread, a horrible kind of anxiety creeping up from his guts and poisoning his mind with this almost immobilising sensation.

He wanted to go, he wanted things to work out, he wanted to be the kind of boyfriend that George deserved, but he’d dug himself this hole, and as much as he could definitely see the surface now, that didn’t detract from the fact that he was still very much down at the bottom.

“What about…?” George began, letting out a sigh, as he struggled to assess the situation - whether this was just nerves, or whether he really  _ couldn’t _ go, and of course what he’d have to do about that. What they’d have to do instead. “What happened to if we go then we can always go home if you don’t want to be there anymore.”

“But I…” Matty shook his head, finding himself in one of those situations in which he just couldn’t put exactly what was going on in his head into words, or anything that could be made much sense of. “I know I’m going to get like that. I know I’m going to want to go home. So what’s the point in going in the first place?”

George thought for a moment, biting his lip as he struggled to find an answer to that, because he couldn’t say that he couldn’t see where Matty was coming from. “Because then at least you can say you’ve tried.” He met Matty with a hopeful kind of look, praying that his words might resonate with him in the slightest.

“Still doesn’t count for shit though. Oh, I  _ tried _ to function like a competent human being but it didn’t work, what a surprise, I’m a pathetic piece of shit. Who knew?” Matty got up from the bed, turning to face his reflection in the mirror. George couldn’t help but watch from across the room as he seemed to scowl at himself slightly, even going as far as to grimace. George couldn’t even begin to imagine just what Matty thought of himself, honestly, up there in his own head, and he could imagine only less how Matty managed to tackle it.

“Because…” George began, getting to his feet and making his way over to Matty. “Things only get better if you try.” He told him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling Matty back into his chest.

Matty groaned, pulling out of his grip and turning back to face him. “I feel like shit.” He threw things down as honestly as he could, tentatively looking up to watch George as he spoke. “I feel like… I feel like I have to be someone worth people’s time… worth your fucking time. I feel like I have to be someone who’s confident, someone like the person I used to be, but then, even then, a lot of that was fake. I’m just not that person. I can’t keep pretending, it makes me feel like shit.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be anything.” George assured him, reaching for Matty’s hands. “Of course you’re worth my time.”

Matty let out a sigh, really wishing he could believe George, but finding that no matter which way he looked at it, he just couldn’t. “I don’t feel like I can go there and be a good enough version of myself to mean anything to anyone. To mean anything to that girl that keeps hitting on you.”

“Charlie.” George reminded him. “That’s not what this is about.” He continued, holding Matty’s gaze, “and you  _ told _ me that it wasn’t about that. Fuck Charlie - like she counts for anything in comparison to you. Look, if you really can’t go then it’s fine, we’ll stay home, we’ll do something else, but you really should try.”

“I can go.” Matty let out a sigh. “I just don’t want to. I’m just… I don’t know what’s going on in my head, really. I just… I just kept… it sounds stupid… it doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.” George insisted, moving closer to Matty, as if he was scared that he might suddenly disappear. “It matters.”

Matty shook his head, biting his lip to keep the sudden mess of confession and ugly crying back inside him. “It’s… it doesn’t matter.”

“It  _ does _ .” George continued, leaning in and kissing Matty: for longer than was necessary, and really, it felt as if he’d done it entirely in slow motion, as if he feared that Matty might drift away from him and fade out into nothingness the very moment he pulled away.

Matty inhaled sharply, suddenly very conscious of the pressure of George’s hand - still placed on the back of his neck, even as he pulled away from the kiss. He averted his gaze, unable to look him in the eyes as he ran everything back through his mind, because this just wasn’t George’s fault, and Matty knew he’d want to interpret it as such, no matter how much he insisted that was the last thing he wanted.

“ _ Matty _ .” George pressed for him to continue, reaching up with his other hand and pushing Matty’s hair away from his face. “You’re really cold.” He commented, pressing his hand to Matty’s cheek. 

It was then with George’s fucking massive hand on his cheek that Matty felt it all coming out of him before he could quite think straight. “I keep thinking about New Year.” With the distance, or really, lack of, between them, he could feel the way George caught his breath, the way his insides froze up all of a sudden, and there was a slight pause before everything returned to normal again.

“I know.” Matty continued, still hesitant to pull his gaze up to meet George’s. “I know that won’t happen again, but I just. I keep thinking about what did happen, and then everything that happened immediately after that, the kind of state I was in at the time, and honestly all of that just makes me feel a bit sick.”

“I’m sorry.” George’s words held such a level of sincerity that Matty couldn’t quite begin to comprehend. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want you to blame yourself.” Matty shook his head, pulling away from George and pacing across the room. “I just need to stop  _ thinking _ . Thinking so much. I’m my own worst enemy really, everything, it’s all up in my head, but like fuck does that make it any less real. Surely that only makes it more real, makes it worse, because you’re trapped up inside it, and I just keep running in the same circles around my own head, and I know that nothing’s going to get better unless I actually change things, but… I’m scared. I just need to… I need everything to stop.”

“Tell me I’m an idiot, but…” George began, his voice a little quieter than it had been before. “Surely just sitting at home would make things worse. You know, sitting around with your own thoughts. I mean, you don’t have as much of a distraction.”

“I don’t need a distraction, I need a solution.” Matty shook his head, leaning back against the wall. “I need everything just go away. I need my fucking head to work properly. I need help, really. Don’t I?”

George nodded, meeting Matty with what he hoped came across as a comforting kind of smile. “You do.”

“But I need to help myself.” He continued, running a hand back through his hair, “and I guess you’re right, maybe in the time being, I do just need a distraction, and I need you to tell me that everything’s fine, and kiss me at least once every ten minutes, and tell me I look pretty at least every five minutes.”

“I can do that.” George assured him.

“I think I need a smoke as well.” Matty sat back down on the bed, a little bit more put together than he had been before.

George hit him with a smile. “That’s you and me both, I can say that for sure.”

“I’m not letting you steal my weed this time around, though.” Matty flashed him a glare, only half joking.

“It’s not stealing, it’s  _ sharing _ .” George insisted, joining him on the bed, and leaning in to kiss him quickly. “It’s as much of my weed as it is your weed.”

“Whatever you say.” Matty shook his head - very much unconvinced.

-

They did make it in the end, and perhaps it was that which mattered more than anything else. It was largely down to the fact that really, things were just quite a bit easier when you were just that little bit stoned.

It was a little house down the end of a street not a far walk from theirs, that might have looked quite a lot more normal in the full light of day, but with the dim evening light and sunset orange toned sky, the whole world seemed to be framed just that little bit differently. Perhaps that was a good thing though, perhaps Matty hadn’t gathered the courage and motivation to go and talk to boringly normal people in a boringly normal house at a boringly normal party.

They were a bit late, which was indeed Matty’s fault, but nowhere near as much as he insisted that it was, as really, what did a couple of minutes matter in the scheme of things. Although they were definitely more than just a  _ couple _ of minutes late, but that was hardly the real issue at hand.

George couldn’t help but notice the way Matty instinctively moved closer to him as they neared the front door. He didn’t find any problem with it, and really quite liked having Matty close to him, since he did really quite like Matty after all; it was just the reason why and knowing what it all meant, and knowing why Matty lived his life like that, and sometimes, accidentally, still coming to accept the Matty he had known before in his place.

He didn’t mind. He made sure he was well aware of that, because Matty was getting better - he really was trying, and things really were changing, and George could feel it.

“You good?” He turned to Matty, unable to stop himself from noticing the way his breathing had quickly grown more rapid and shallow; he wondered if he’d always notice things like that - the little, unnecessary kind of slight changes, that somehow always seemed to mean much more than he could possibly imagine.

“Yeah.” Matty told him, glancing back at George and flashing him a smile. It wasn’t much more than a small smile, but as far as George could tell, it was genuine, and it was that which really mattered after all. “You?” 

George nodded, reaching over to ring the doorbell. “Yeah, me too.” He added, stretching a little as they waited for Gemma to answer the door. He could tell it was definitely an uncomfortable silence on Matty’s part - filled with a horrible kind of anxiety that made you question every decision you’d ever made, and he wished he knew what to say to make that the slightest bit better, or even just to fill a moment or two of their time, but he found that he couldn’t, and that Gemma was opening the door for them before he could even get his brain into gear.

Gemma was tall and thin with light curly hair and a bottle of wine in her left hand - a natural kind of pretty fit with a natural kind of happiness. She seemed to radiate kindness, and a weird kind of welcoming sensation that appeared so comforting that Matty was unsure whether he could really trust it or not. The matter of the fact, however, was that she seemed nice enough, and Matty wasn’t here to make complex judgements about people, but to try and have a good time, to try and have a normal evening, to try to be the kind of person George deserved.

“So you’re the boyfriend.” She turned to Matty immediately, ignoring George completely, which might have been something that would have irritated him if he didn’t know Gemma well enough to know that she didn’t mean any harm by it.

“Yeah…” Matty began, blushing a little as he glanced between George and Gemma. “That’s me.” He met her with a smile: something about making a good impression drifting to the forefront of his mind.

“Never told me he had a boyfriend.” She continued, rolling her eyes across at George like he wasn’t there at all. “Never even told me he liked guys too.”

“It was a kind of complicated thing.” George added, hitting Gemma with a look which he could only hope might convey something about shutting up to her. It was hit and miss, really. “Also not your business.” He let his face fall into a grin - one that she shared, before standing aside to let the two inside.

As Matty made his way inside after her, he found that the place was nowhere near as busy as he had first imagined, and much more manageable than he had first thought. There were really no more than twenty people in total, and he found himself immediately recognising the smell of weed coming from the corner. The music wasn’t too bad either - not on too loudly as it tended to be at these sort of parties, and not just the same playlist of pop songs over and over again but instead something indie that Matty thought sounded like he might have once heard at a friend’s house back when he was seventeen.

“Not my business.” Gemma nodded in agreement as she closed the front door behind them. “Just one of those things I thought you would have mentioned, you know? Then again I had a friend who didn’t find out was a vegetarian until eight months into our friendship.”

“Sexuality is a bit different to not eating meat.” Matty found himself speaking up, not really having intended to, but finding the words slipping his lips before he could quite stop them. In after thought, he wasn’t entirely sure why he had tried to stop them in the first place, as it wasn’t a bad thing after all. “I mean, you can just stop eating meat whenever, and then sexuality is like what you’re born with and something you have to figure out. Something that’s complicated to figure out, you know… in the same way that deciding you’re not going to eat chicken anymore isn’t  _ quite _ so complicated.”

“Yeah.” Gemma thought for a moment, glancing between George and Matty. “You’re right really. I didn’t mean it like that anyway. Just thought it might have come up in conversation before, but it’s not a worry really.” She pulled her lips up into a smile, before turning to look at Matty, but this time really  _ looking _ at him. Matty couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable under her gaze, as she took in his appearance, seeming to notice far too much in a far too little space of time. “Never did mention your name either. You’re a crap boyfriend really, aren’t you, George?”

“I’m Matty.” Matty offered, glancing up at George and smiling, as he started to get the feeling that maybe this really wouldn’t be quite so bad after all. “He’s lovely, really. Even if he is a bit of an idiot sometimes.”

George rolled his eyes, sensing a certain something creeping across Matty’s face. “If you dare mention the fucking ham one more time, I swear to god-”

“I told you not to buy that fucking ham at least seven million times now, because I’ve told you - I don’t like it, but you still keep doing it!” Matty found himself coming out with much more of a sudden outburst than he had planned: his voice rising much more than he had ever intended, and really the whole situation was more than just a little bit amusing. Matty turned to Gemma, who couldn’t help but giggle. “He keeps buying this horrible slimy ham.” He explained. 

George wanted to argue, but instead found himself shaking his head, deciding it was probably better off that way.

Gemma glanced down at her phone momentarily, before turning to George. “Charlie says she wanted to talk to you, you should go and find her, I think she’s out in the garden.”

Matty couldn’t help but grimace, desperately wanting to say something, but knowing that it was definitely better not to in front of Gemma, and anyway, he had to trust George, and he had to let him go off and talk to other people for a few minutes, even if they were desperately hitting on him. He found George’s eyes meeting his momentarily, and really before Matty quite knew what he was doing, he gave George a quick nod, leaving him there to hold his breath as he watched George disappear off into Gemma’s house.

He didn’t want to put himself down as entirely pathetic and incapable of being a functional human being, or one of those people that couldn’t survive without their boyfriend for more than two seconds because he knew they were just so incredibly annoying, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop the feeling that his feet were sinking slowly into the floor, coupled with the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Come on.” But then suddenly, there was Gemma, smiling at him, with that strange kind of comforting sensation she seemed to radiate, as she picked up her bottle of wine from the table. She outstretched her other hand towards Matty, nodding at him as if she could almost sense what was going on inside of his head.

Matty didn’t have the slightest idea just where she was taking him, or whether or not that would be a good idea, but there was something about her that made him trust her, and without George around he found that he didn’t have a much better idea for what to do. That was how he found himself taking her hand and letting her drag him off down the hallway and through a doorway which lead the two of them into the kitchen.

He found himself immediately grateful for the quiet and the empty room, and the look Gemma held in her eyes as she set the wine down at the breakfast bar said she might seem to understand.

“Sit down.” She nodded towards a stool, leaving him to do so as she reached up to one of the cupboards, retrieving two wine glasses and setting them down on the breakfast bar beside them. “These are my nice glasses - don’t break them.” She flashed him a smile, before taking the seat next to him.

Matty had to admit that he did feel quite a bit better now they were away from everybody else, but he couldn’t settle the unease inside him that came with his lack of knowledge as to just exactly what was really going on. He just wasn’t at all sure how best to ask that without coming off as rude or something like that. Instead, he resorted to watching as she poured them both a glass of wine. 

Matty tried to focus on the wine - he liked wine, after all, but still this had never really been about the wine, because despite what he might have thought, when coming down to a glass of wine, some things weren’t just about the wine inside, but the glass itself. After all, maybe this wasn’t so much about the anxiety he felt about parties and outings and other people, but instead what kept it there, so very present and so very real in his chest, still after all this time.

“You’re Matty.” She began, taking a sip from her glass of wine, hitting him with a look that seemed as if it didn't quite fit with the happy demeanour she’d had before. “ _ Matty _ Matty?” She raised her eyebrows, finding the need to confirm it.

“Yeah… I’m… there’s no other Matty.” He found himself blushing, and had no better ideas than to hide his face behind his wine glass for a little while, taking a sip or two - unable to deny the way things did just seem that little bit easier afterwards.

“I’ve heard a bit about you.” Gemma continued, offering him a smile, sensing the way he’d tensed up a little bit again. “Never thought you’d be the boyfriend, though. Never saw the whole boyfriend thing coming in the first place. He loves you, though, that’s obvious. I mean, I’ve seen you two together for about three minutes, but still, he really does love you.”

“What have you heard about me?” Matty couldn’t help but feel as if everything inside him had suddenly started to scream, as he immediately jumped to imagine the worst, because seemingly there was just no other way in which he could get his mind to work. “What do you mean?”

“How exactly did you two get from ex-best friends who ended up pretty much hating each other to boyfriends?” Gemma, of course, decided to answer his question with another question, but still, Matty could piece together some sort of answer from it.

“Honestly…” He let out a sigh, not entirely sure he was comfortable with relaying his entire life story to her, but there was a certain something in her eyes that just made him want to trust her, and if she knew the half of it already, then what harm could the rest do?

“Honestly.” She nodded, prompting for him to continue.

“I was a bit in love with him, for a long time now. I just didn’t recognise it at first, and then I didn’t want to admit it, and then something kind of happened, but it didn’t quite work out, and things just got messy and it wasn’t really a thing at all, and then he kissed this girl and I kind of lost it. Like properly lost it.” He let out a sigh, hating the way his whole body tensed up at every mention of New Year, hating the way it didn’t much seem like he’d be able to get over it. But the thing was that, realistically, he had to.

“That was Saffy, wasn’t it?” Gemma let out a sigh, unable to help noticing the way Matty seemed to flinch at the mention of her name; that, of course, confirmed that it was. “I never liked her.” She continued, taking a sip of her wine, and turning to Matty, who rushed to do the same.

“I don’t much like her either.” Matty admitted, feeling like maybe he was just a little bit jealous about things, considering that he’d never really spent much time with her, and his main memory of her was walking into the bathroom and seeing her kissing George, which wasn’t the most pleasant of memories by any standard. “I kind of… I don’t know. I never really knew her, but she and George broke up because she started being a bit of a bitch to him, and then she kissed him, so I guess I have my reasons.”

“She’s a bit of a bitch in general, really.” Gemma finished her glass of wine and turned to Matty with a smile. “I went to college with her.” She continued to explain, noticing the slight confusion setting in over Matty’s face. “I mean, okay, a drunken kiss is one thing, but a four month relationship is another thing, and that’s what I can’t really understand. I’d gathered from her that George’s type was bitchy girls who have far too much to say and far too much to drink, that’s why you kind of caught me by surprise.”

Matty shrugged, not really wanting to think about what had happened in those four months, but finding his mind wandering there of its own accord. “I can do bitchy girl who’s got far too much to say and had far too much to drink. I can do that.” He told her, reaching for his wine glass and finishing his drink.

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “You’re not like that though. I mean, I don’t really know you, but from what I can tell, you’re really not like that.” She left Matty to ponder over her observations as she poured them both another glass of wine.

“What am I like then?” Matty asked, only speaking up again after a minute or so had passed - almost scared to hear what she might consider to be the answer.

“You don’t really want to be here but you came anyway. For George, I think, and I think you told him to go, you’re the one who told him that he should go and you’d come with him even though you didn’t really want to. You’re nervous about things, I thought maybe shy, but not really, you just don’t like large amounts of people or new situations. Maybe just not a party kind of person, but really not the kind of person George used to tell me about.” Matty just sat there: eyes wide as Gemma relayed his whole life story to him.

“Things changed. I guess I used to be like that - with too much to say and too much to drink, and partying, and loud opinions, and my own interests in front of everything else, but that changed. Everything sort of faded away, and I just gradually became less interested in that sort of thing, and then that kiss happened, and that didn’t help things at all.” He wasn’t the least bit sure why, but he really found an odd kind of trust in her in all of this, and that made coming clean about things just that bit easier.

“I like you.” She continued, meeting Matty’s eyes. “I haven’t seen much of you, but I like you. And George definitely loves you, but don’t let him fuck this up, alright? Don’t let him fuck you up, don’t let him pull that sort of shit again, because I don’t even care if I’m more of his friend, and I don’t even care how big and tall he is, I will fucking come and fuck him up if he hurts you.”

Matty let out a laugh, blushing a little, and generally doing his best to try not to think of the countless possibilities of everything going wrong. “Thanks, but I think things are going to be alright this time. I really do. I really fucking hope so.”

“I hope so too. I don’t think I’d be very good at trying to punch him, you know?” She let out a laugh, before pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Need to text Charlie to let him come back now.”

“You what?” Matty hit her with an odd kind of look: not entirely grasping what was going on here.

“Yeah, she never actually had anything to say to him, I just wanted to talk to you in private for a minute. Get an idea of what kind of person you are and everything.” Matty’s eyes widened, somewhat horrified by the true nature of everything. “It’s not like that. Look, I do it to everybody anyone of my friends date, I wanna get an idea of what kind of person they are, you know? I think that’s kind of my responsibility, being a good friend.”

Matty shrugged, “I guess.” Still, he couldn’t deny that the idea made him just that little bit uncomfortable. “So he’s just been with Charlie for no reason?”

“Pretty much.” Gemma nodded, putting her phone down and taking a sip of her wine. “She can talk to him for ages though, it will have been fine.”

“George reckons she’s hitting on him.” In hindsight, Matty came to conclude that maybe it would have been much better for the both of them if he’d managed  _ not _ to voice that aloud, at least not so bluntly anyway.

“She’s not.” Gemma assured him, holding his gaze as she spoke. “She thinks he’s attractive, but I mean that’s different, isn’t it? Anyway, she knows about you now, and she’s not that kind of person.”

“She gave him her number on Friday.” Matty couldn’t help but sound rather unconvinced by all of this, and perhaps just a little bit jealous, and a little bit overly concerned.

Gemma let out a sigh, rolling her eyes a little. “She’s not going to steal your boyfriend. For a start, she doesn’t want to, and even if she did, I wouldn’t let her, alright? You don’t deserve that.”

It was then in the silence that followed, in the space that Matty didn’t quite know how to fill, in the mess of thoughts drifting messily around his head, that George made his way into the kitchen, eyeing the two of them almost suspiciously, before sitting down next to Matty.

“No offence, Gemma, but I really do think she’s hitting on me.” George announced, picking Matty’s glass of wine up out of his hand and taking a drink himself. Matty was moments away from protesting this until what George had said actually set in.

“I  _ told _ you!” He exclaimed, glancing across at Gemma accusingly. “If he thinks she’s hitting on him, then she’s hitting on him-”

“What did she do?” Gemma let her face fall into her hands, unsure quite how to deal with the situation. “Tattoo her name onto your arm, or something?”

“She made some really awkward comments about me and Matty, I mean, not anything nasty, I don’t think she meant much by it, but it was just a bit weird. I don’t think she really grasps the concept of bisexuality, you know, even after I explained it to her.” George let out a groan as he recalled it, deciding that it was just best if he finished off Matty’s glass of wine for him. “I don’t think she even had anything to talk to me about.”

“She didn’t.” Matty answered for him, before Gemma could come up with anything else.

“I just wanted to talk to Matty for a minute.” She continued to explain, looking between George and Matty, as the two shared a glance. It was the kind of glance that she couldn’t quite decipher, and that made her just that little bit uneasy with all of this.

“You could have just asked to talk to him for a minute instead of making me talk to her, you know?” George offered, leaning up against Matty’s shoulder. “It’s whatever, I mean… I don’t know. I mean she doesn’t mean anything bad, really. She’s just sort of… I don’t know.”

“I mean…” Matty began, leaning back into George. “She just thinks you’re hot, I can’t blame her for that, can I? Seeing as you are.”

“God.” George rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself blushing immensely, because really when Matty got like this, it was bad enough when Gemma wasn’t sat just in front of them, watching with wide eyes, and an amused half smirk curling over her lips.

“What?” Matty protested, looking up at him with a grin, “you  _ are _ .” He insisted, before leaning over and pouring himself another glass of wine. “Even if you did drink  _ my _ glass of wine, smoke  _ my _ weed-”

“It was  _ our _ weed.” George corrected him, before proceeding to take the wine glass out of his hands and take another sip, before placing it back down in his grasp. “Shared weed.”

“If you two break up then who gets custody of the weed?” Gemma asked, pulling one leg up to her chest.

“That’s why we can’t break up.” Matty laughed, feeling his cheeks heating up. “I mean, what would we do with the weed?”

“We’d probably have to smoke it all so it’s fair.” George suggested, finding that although Gemma had made a joke out of it, if they did break up, this would probably be an actual argument they’d have.

“What? Whilst we have a proper domestic, like proper yelling at each other and just getting stoned at the same time?” Matty suggested, raising his eyebrows, and really, George couldn’t help but snort at the notion.

“It could work.” Gemma shrugged, picking up her phone to text Charlie back, who honestly really was just trying her best with George, even if that perhaps hadn’t come across in the best way.

“Let’s just try not to break up instead.” George leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of Matty’s neck. “How about that?”

“Yeah. I think I can manage that.” Matty let a smile fall over his lips, leaning back into George’s chest, and breathing in the cool air - the slight draught from where George had left the door slightly open, and the hum of music and conversation making its way through the door from the other side of the house. He had this odd kind of warm feeling in his stomach: a kind of buzzing sensation, almost like what he imagined the colour gold might feel like. 

The thing was, however, that he couldn’t quite figure if he was finally properly happy and at peace with the world, or if it was just the wine, and this was him treading towards properly tipsy, and then on towards the kind of drunk he’d rather not be, but still the kind of drunk he might end up the next morning. 

In all honesty, Matty had no idea where things might go from here, and truthfully, that was what should have scared him, but for the first time in far too long now, he found himself something close to truly at ease. He didn’t quite know what to think about that at all. But maybe it was just the weed, just the weed, and the wine, and something about the way Gemma smiled like she really meant it, and the feeling of George’s lips against his neck. Maybe with all of that, Matty didn’t much mind losing himself by the end of the night.

-

It was too bright, and everything smelled too much of alcohol, of drink, of the kind of mess that was nowhere near as noticeable when you were yourself wrapped up in it. The morning, however, brought forth the world in a new kind of light, and not just simply the light coming through the windows, and casting tall shadows across walls, and faces, across the world and the people within it. It wasn’t about the physical light around them - the light of the sun, the light of the morning, and the warm breeze making its way through the house - a gentle reminder that it might be summer soon.

The focus was more so the light held in Matty’s eyes, in the light he viewed the world, and how one night did change things, and how it was always the smallest things that would make the biggest impact, and the biggest things that would end up meaning nothing at all.

His head was pounding. He’d drank too much. There was something good within it though, there was a distinct kind of feeling running through his veins - a very prominent reminder that he was alive and that everything was real. He was hungover, with bags under his eyes, and his hair tied back out of his face in a messy bun, and he was alive, watching the sun shine through the windows of Gemma’s house, watching the few people asleep on the sofas at the end of the room begin to wake up, watching the world really begin.

It was just past six. They hadn’t intended to stay the night. They hadn’t intended to stay at all. Yet that was how things had happened - the world had continued to turn without Matty’s certain input or approval, and that was just how things happened and would always continue to happen, and perhaps the secret to getting ‘better’ was just coming to terms with that, and finding comfort in the fact that the past was very much behind you and it would always be as such.

Parties weren’t so bad after all.

It was just his head - spinning slightly, and the lack of a general idea of what to do with himself, with George passed out at the other end of the room, looking just about as peaceful as the circumstances allowed. Still, he was beautiful. Still, Matty was a soppy romantic, which had been quite the surprise, and certainly to himself.

In the end he went outside - through the kitchen, the back door, and into Gemma’s tiny little back garden. He’d come to conclude that fresh air was his best bet in improving his current situation, and biding his time as everything fit itself back together again, and until George woke up - there was that too.

The air was warm on his skin - more of a caress than a touch, gentle and loving, with intent and meaning, and the warm glow of what might begin to be summer all around him, fitting perfectly in time with the steady rhythm of his heart - for once calm in his chest. His heart would never sleep, but this was the most rest it had gotten in something reaching close to forever. 

The sunrise seemed to define the morning, to define the world - to paint Matty’s heart, his body, his world, his soul, in shades of pink, orange, and gold. There was a feeling of sparks to it all, as if despite the peace around him, the world was on fire. It was a different kind of fire though - no longer a raging forest fire with the power to kill hundreds, but perhaps just the gentle burning of a cigarette - held gently out of a bedroom window in the early morning, or the slow burning of incense: a warm, summery scent, peaceful - not to put you to sleep, but to make you feel alive.

Admittedly, he had come outside in search of peace and quiet, of solitude, of the space to sit and think in the company of his own mind, of the wish to watch golden skies turn baby blue, and let the world settle in around him in its own time. Things, however, didn’t always quite work out as planned.

Sat down at the bottom of the very small garden, with their backs up against the fence, were two people, smoking away the morning. It didn’t take Matty long to recognise one of the two to be Gemma, but he found himself frozen, fixated on the guy beside her - so desperate to try his best to fix a name to the face. Quite a few people had introduced themselves to him last night, and Matty had found himself just far more alright with that than he ever could have bargained for, but he found himself reasonably certain that the man sat beside her was not among them.

“Hey…” Gemma noticed him soon enough, craning her neck upwards to better catch his attention. “Matty?”

He held her gaze, biting his tongue, glancing quickly between the two of them, and the unreadable expressions they shared. It was in that moment that his heart failed to fit quite so comfortably in his chest for very much longer, as doubt began to set in, and rose red seemed to look a lot more like blood, and the gold of the sky was too bright, glistening, digging holes into him, tearing him apart - and there he’d fall, piece by piece, to settle amongst the dirt and dust in the grass. 

He might have been okay with that if he didn’t know better, and perhaps it was one of those times where he just wished that he didn’t, but the past was past, and even though there seemed to be a thousand colours amidst the sunrise, not one of them was red. And after all, breathing always seemed so much more complicated in theory than in practice. He felt as if the same could be said for a lot of things.

Despite a spiral of unexplained anxiety and a horrible instinctual feeling that everything had somehow gone wrong, Matty made his way across the garden in the end. He held Gemma’s smile and sat down beside her like it was a simple thing to do - like that was his instinct, like he had the right kind of thoughts in his head, like more than breathing had ever come naturally to him.

“This is John.” Gemma gestured towards the man sat beside her, with long brown, shoulder length hair, and a tired, yet content, almost borderline peaceful kind of look in his eyes. “This is Matty.” She turned to John, gesturing at Matty momentarily.

“George’s boyfriend?” John inquired, leaning forward a little to get a better glimpse of Matty, who wasn’t entirely sure what about him was worth all that much in terms of credit and acknowledgement.

“Yeah.” Matty saw Gemma’s mouth open, ready to answer for him, but found he’d beat her to it. It wasn’t out of dislike for her, but love for himself, for coming to terms with the sound of his voice, and the way worlds might slide from his tongue without tying themselves into all kinds of knots. “I’m George’s boyfriend.”

“Is he still asleep?” Gemma asked, taking a drag of her cigarette, and letting her gaze fall back upon the house, and the backdoor Matty had managed to leave slightly ajar. 

Matty nodded, following her gaze, finding that in his head, he was back in her living room, at one with the shadows: more of a silhouette cast on the wall, as opposed to a person stood there, living, breathing, amongst it all. He had found comfort in that, but it was different to the morning light, to the morning air, to cigarette smoke, to strange names and familiar faces, to an intimidation of the person he might one day grow to be.

“Thought so.” She nodded, letting the silence set in between the three of them for a while afterwards.

Matty was the one to break it in the end, but only a good few minutes down the line, by the time their previous conservation had gone as far as to fade away into little specks of dust that had drifted away from them and settled down amongst the grass in some place rendered unreachable by time only but by time itself. 

“I can voluntarily be in a different room to George, you know?” His tone wasn’t snappy or defensive, but the same kind of quiet, the same kind of gentle, perhaps more so of a reminder to himself than anyone else. Perhaps from the look in Gemma’s eyes, Matty could be sure that she knew it too. “I can.” He repeated: louder this time.

“He’s there for you. You’ve got a good thing.” Gemma reminded him, finishing her cigarette and stubbing it out against the fence, leaving a small trail of ash against the brown coat of paint. “You don’t have to be entirely separate and different to be your own person. It’s natural to rely on people - we all do.”

“We do.” John added, finding that he hadn’t had all that much to add before, but meeting Matty with a reassuring nod and smile nonetheless.

“I don’t want to be co-dependent, latching onto him feels like there’s a hole to fill, feels like I’m broken, in pieces.” Matty swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’m not like that. It’s not like that.”

“If it isn’t then why is it an issue?” She questioned, leaning back against the fence, and watching the way Matty’s burrow furrowed as he struggled to put an answer to her question.

“I don’t know. I think I’m still so caught up with what people think.” Matty admitted, words turning dry in his throat.

“You shouldn’t be.” Her response was instantaneous, but so very honest through this all.

“I know.” Matty sighed. “I know.”

-

Matty found that he’d missed his house in what was quite a short space of time. He’d missed his own bed, he’d missed his own bathroom, his own sofa, his own garden, his own kitchen sink. He’d missed the calm, he’d missed the cool breeze, and George’s smile across from him in a silence that might span on for hours but would never grow any more uncomfortable.

He didn’t want to be quick to discern anything, but this was what he needed, this was his life, and this was the world sitting into place around him. Perhaps he didn’t have to amount to the whole world, perhaps he didn’t have to be the person he was before to be happy again, because this wasn’t about looking backwards and trying to mirror how things had been, but about looking forwards and making off in that direction.

They hadn’t spoken of all that much on the way home, as the morning had really turned over into the day, but Matty felt that he and George were, regardless of silence, still on very much the same wavelength. It was that which seemed to set his heart at ease, because this was what he needed, to have the trust in him to be his own person, and to be who they were, both together, as two separate people.

It was stretched out across the sofa, with Allen beside them, in much the same manner as they had been on Friday night that thoughts finally turned themselves into words.

“Wasn’t so bad after all, was it?” George offered him a smile, referring back to the party, finding his mind drifting to back to the varying stages of comfort Matty had felt with the whole idea of going out, of Gemma’s party, of people, of alcohol, of facing up to the mess that had brought them here in the first place.

Matty shrugged. “Bad is subjective, isn’t it?” He let out a sigh, leaning further into George and closing his eyes, letting the world fade out slowly around him.

George smiled, laughing a little at exactly how Matty had chosen to answer his question. “You had a good time, though, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Matty murmured, his words only perhaps making it halfway out of his mouth. “I did.”

“Gemma’s nice.” George nodded, watching as Matty returned the gesture, accompanied by a muffled sort of half yes. With that there was silence for a few minutes more, as George found that he perhaps didn’t quite know what to say, but then there was maybe just no specific need to fill the silence in the first place.

Matty spoke up a good five minutes later, eyes opening slightly, but gaze fixated upon the ground. “I need help, though.” George nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but found Matty continuing before he could quite get the chance to do so. “Things shouldn’t be this complicated. Things are supposed to be easier. Things don’t make sense really, and I can make sense of some things on my own, but definitely not everything. Definitely not everything.”

“So Ross was right…” George began, letting a smile fall over his face.

“Maybe.” Matty sighed, closing his eyes again. “Or maybe I just knew it all along.”

George snorted, watching Matty’s mouth curl up into a grin. “Maybe you did.” He smiled, unable to stop himself from sounding just that little bit skeptical.

The thing was though, after all, it wasn’t nearly so much about the ins and outs of how you got there, but really the fact that despite it all, you did in the end, and perhaps it was that Sunday, amongst everything else, that Matty had really begun to understand that.

-


	9. im rly gay for daughter

Sometimes the air got too much to breathe. Sometimes he forgot the most simple things. Sometimes he forgot the world, sometimes his head was in pieces and he had little idea as to how he might begin to put it back together. This night wasn’t quite like that, though. This night was never ending, with twisting pathways leading to the corners of his mind he’d done his best to avoid, but here he was, and here he stood, watching the night grow darker still - sleepless, but content with it.

He could feel it happening again - slowly this time, as everything fell apart. He just wasn’t quite so sure what to do about it, what to do with himself. This was definitely one of those instances in which he should wake George up - there was little question about that - there just a question about the fact of whether Matty wanted to or not. Whether he wanted to trouble George, whether he even wanted to voice the mess he’d twisted himself into out loud. It certainly wasn’t that substantial - it meant nothing at all, it was simply parasitical, feeding upon itself and growing very quickly out of control. 

There was nothing much to say, really, and Matty thought this ought to be the kind of thing he could deal with by himself. He chose to ignore the fact that it wasn’t, and the simplicity in the matter that that fact really was a  _ fact _ . Instead, he sat at his desk, opened the window away, listening to gentle sound of late night rainfall against the rooftop and the outside world, and light a cigarette, smoking it away as slowly as he could.

He let himself make the mistake of trusting his entire psyche to the packet of cigarettes left out on the table and the lighter he’d found by his bed. He reckoned it might have been George’s lighter initially, but he came to conclude that it didn’t really matter for all that much in the moment, and if George was sharing his bed in that very moment, then Matty could share his lighter. 

There was something about their situation, and how everything had fallen together so carefully always seemed to catch Matty out, because everything was always just so natural, so gradual, like this was the only way things could ever be, that was until Matty took a step back, and looked at the man in his bed from someone else’s eyes, that his head started to spin. He was quite unsure how they’d gotten here, and quite what that moment, because there was a certain something inside of him that really did demand that it meant something, and that he couldn’t just leave it all be. Or perhaps that was just the situation, just the mess in his head, and the nicotine that was only helping him as much as it was tearing him apart.

He’d always thought this would be it. This would be how things got put together again. Matty had never imagined that he could possibly feel alone or feel empty with George asleep so peacefully in his bed, in the room they shared, in the house they lived in, with their lives that were now just so carefully intertwined like things had simply never been any different. But still, Matty sat awake, sat alone, with his head close to split right in two, onto his desk, to sound of raindrops and quiet little snores from across the room. He’d managed to lock himself up not just in the room, but in his own head. Perhaps there came a point where you’d breathed the same air so many times that it turned into poison, into a toxic nothingness all around you. Matty did wonder if that was the case, or if that was just his mind, or if he just needed a drink, or some fresh air, someone to talk to, or everything in the world all at once.

In the end he went for the easiest option - the one he could most put into action at that moment in time, and he did so by getting to his feet, grabbing a jacket from the floor, and making his way through the house and out of the front door. As he’d come to think of the miracles of fresh air and a simple change of scenery in a late night walk and how it might work to calm his thoughts, he’d come to neglect the rain, the cold, and the darkness of the very early morning sky. 

Two was hardly the best time for a walk around the block, down a couple of streets, maybe to the twenty four hour shop round the corner, to buy something to pass the time, or as an excuse to send himself out in the rain, but Matty’s mental breakdowns never did take the time of day and its convenience into account. Still, he had to be thankful that this was hardly the worst of them, as was proved in the fact that he could get himself to his feet and out of the front door in the first place. He chose to view it as a sign - that things were getting better, that there was hope after all, but deep down he knew that it was just luck, just down to the circumstance - nothing less, nothing more.

It was as he made it down towards the end of the street that he came to wonder if he should have just woken George up, regardless of the inconvenience, regardless of every lie he’d told himself about how he was getting better and that things weren’t how they had been. He came to regret how he hadn’t sat up with George and let him talk him through the mess he was in, let him get up and take him into the living room, turn the light on, and make them some hot chocolate and sit with him and watch whatever shit they were showing on TV at two in the morning. 

As much as George had no really idea how to properly try and put Matty’s head back together, Matty had to admit that he was trying, and curling up with hot chocolate on the sofa sounded a lot better than stumbling around late at night through what might be becoming a rain storm. Matty was stubborn though, and he’d made his way out here in the first place so he reckoned that he at least might as well follow through with it. 

He’d go down and get another packet of cigarettes, to make up for George’s packet that he’d sat smoking the most of, and when he’d get back home, he’d be in a better state - he’d be tired, and he’d be calm with the world, focused on the rain settling on his skin, and not the mess stuck under it. He’d slip back into bed, leave the cigarettes on the side, and let the night curl back in around him, to forget what it was like to live until morning.

The more Matty talked himself through it, the more it sounded like the perfectly orchestrated plan, although, Matty really couldn’t tell if that was just what he’d told himself to make him feel better. In the end, however, he came to conclude that perhaps it didn’t matter all that much because the thing was that he was beginning to feel better, and that was what this had all been about in the first place.

It had never been much to deal with - just a mental trip and stumble into a hole that might have been deeper than he’d thought, and indeed a kind of mess that he struggled to comprehend for himself. He’d thought he was okay, but perhaps that had just been wishful thinking, or perhaps this was just him over exaggerating, perhaps two in the morning simply wasn't’ the best time to begin to judge any kind of situation at all. Perhaps he really should have been at home and in bed, but he was halfway to the shop now, even as he walked as slowly as he could - more so dragging his feet across the pavement than anything else.

He stopped and took a moment to assure himself of the fact that he was and everything was okay, before continuing down the empty street: utterly vacant at the time of night he found himself in, which was something he was quite thankful for, as the last thing he really wanted to do was make awkward eye contact with someone across the street. In the lack of company or even signs of human inhabitants, he instead came to take note of the world around him, of the houses he knew, of the streets that had seen him grow and change. 

There was a distinct feeling that this was his world as much as anyone else’s, and as he walked down past a park where he’d hung out quite a few years ago now, he couldn’t get rid of feeling that despite it all, he really did belong. He wasn’t out of place in the world around him, with his friends, with the people he loved, but simply out of place in his own head, and his preconceived ideas of how things ought to be, but that was of course something he’d have to work on changing at home, sat comfortably by his window, and not out through the late night rain.

It was as the weather began to worsen that he made it to the shop, illuminating the street corner with bright light, drawing away from the rather pathetic glow of the row of dim streetlights. He quickened his pace to an awkward little run as he dashed for the shelter behind the two automatic front doors, listening to the heavy thudding of rain from behind him. He stood by the entrance of the shop for a moment, brushing his hair back out of his face, and glancing around the shop, finding that he was the only customer, and his only company was a rather tired and agitated looking girl at the counter. 

There was little question about the fact that she was glaring at him like him coming inside had been the worst thing that had happened to her all night, still, he offered her a smile regardless, because Matty might have been in the position of faking a somewhat good mood, or just doing enough to appear polite.

In pursuit of avoiding her gaze he made his way down one of the aisles and proceeded to staring absent mindedly at the cartons of milk for a good few minutes: attempting to keep up the pretence that he’d come inside to do more than just hide from the rain, and indeed himself and the places his mind wound up in when he spent late nights alone. 

After he’d decided that he’d spent a sufficient amount of time ‘browsing’ he picked up the first packet of biscuits he saw, which happened to be an off brand pack of chocolate digestives, which were hardly anything worth mentioning, but they’d do - he could put them in the back of a cupboard somewhere and hope that they’d eat them eventually. In all honesty, the biscuits were hardly his biggest concern as he made his way back to the girl at the counter and picked up a packet of cigarettes from the shelf before sliding the two out onto the counter.

This time she decided that he was worth pretending smile at, but they two shared no form of conversation as she scanned his items, only stopping ask him whether he needed a bag, but Matty just settled on shoving the items into his jacket pockets. As he left the shop he found that they fit surprisingly well, and then came to realise that this was actually George’s jacket, which was generally quite a bit massive, with massive sleeves and massive pockets. 

He couldn’t help but feel a slight bit guilty for getting George’s jacket wet, and near enough completely soaked, but he’d put it up on the radiator when he got back, and it wasn’t like Matty hadn’t bought him some cigarettes and some digestive biscuits, was it?

He did feel a little guilty about waking up and leaving without saying a word to George or even leaving him a note, as he knew for a fact that if it was George doing that to him, he’d probably end up in a state, crying on the bathroom floor in about six minutes flat. He hoped that George wouldn’t wake up or notice at all, as it was the middle of the night and he had been gone no more than fifteen minutes anyway.

The rain only worsened for the entirety of the journey home, which at least encouraged Matty to pick up the pace a little bit, making it home in half the time the journey there had taken him. In the end, he came to stand in his hallway, fumbling for the lightswitch as he hung George’s jacket up to dry, much wetter than had been before, but just that little more okay with himself. Everything had flatlined a little, even out into something more manageable, and the issues that remained prevalent had forms into much more tangible things as opposed to abstractly unpleasant concepts. That had to count the night as a success - a sign of improvement, or something like that.

As he slipped back into his bedroom, relieved to find George still sleeping soundly, he wondered if getting better was just a matter of telling yourself you were until you believed it, because if it was, then he certainly was at least half way there.

He held that thought in his mind as a comfort, setting the biscuits down with the cigarettes at George’s side of the bed, before taking his jeans off and finally getting into bed beside George. He slept well that night, with the sound of rainfall only growing heavier through the open window, and the warmth of George’s front pressed up against his back.

-

“ _ How many _ biscuits did you eat?” Matty awoke the next morning with George’s arms wrapped tightly around him and the packet of chocolate digestives open on the bed beside them. “And in  _ bed? _ There’s going to be  _ crumbs _ , George!”

George snorted, pulling away from Matty to let him stretch a little. “A good morning would have been nice.” He shrugged, taking note of how Matty’s first words to him that day were a complaint about a pack of biscuits. Matty rolled over onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling for a moment and letting his eyes adjust to the bright glow of the morning as George reached for the biscuits, taking another two from the packet, before putting it down onto the bedside table.

“And you’re eating  _ more _ biscuits!” Matty protested, turning his wide eyes to George, who placed one biscuit onto Matty’s chest for him, and then continued to eat his own. Despite his continued complaints, Matty proceeding in taking the digestive from where George had rather awkwardly balanced it on his chest, brushing it off a little, and then eating it.

“If you didn’t want me to eat any biscuits you shouldn’t have bought me any biscuits.” George reminded him of what was of course a very good point, before moving so he was lying beside Matty on his back. “I only ate like half the pack anyway. And you had one.”

“You had like  _ six _ !” Matty continued in being so very vocal about the contents of George’s diet for the morning. “And not in bed. You  _ are _ going to clean the crumbs out of bed.” He turned, giving George the kind of stern look that caught him off guard, but he reckoned he should have gathered that Matty had been pretty serious about the biscuits ever since it had been the first thing he’d mentioned once he’d woken up.

“Fine.” George rolled his eyes, stretching his arms out across their pillows, and accidentally nudging Matty’s head in the process of doing so. “So what was it with the biscuits then? Going out at two in the morning with a craving for chocolate digestives? You should have woken me up - I’d have come with you. I don’t want you being out in the dark on your own, especially if I don’t know where you are.”

“Who said I went out at two in the morning?” Matty turned away rather sheepishly: struggling to place just as to how George had so easily figured the truth out.

“You woke me up when you came back, you know?” George began, his voice rather quiet, gentle almost. He couldn’t help but notice the way Matty tensed up all over in response, and did his best to put him at ease by moving his fingers through his hair, attempting to help subdue the mess of curls that had fallen across the pillow as he’d slept.

“I… did…?” Matty couldn’t help but stutter, stumbling over his words as he hurried to push them through his lips. “I’m sorry.” He blushed, wanting so desperately to hide away from George and everything else in the world, but instead finding himself unable to properly focus on anything beside the feeling of George’s fingers in his hair.

“It’s fine.” George assured him, offering Matty a smile and pausing to wait for its return before he continued to speak. “I fell asleep pretty quickly again. What was it though? Why’d you go out and get some biscuits so late at night?” As much as Matty wanted to refrain from answering the question in its entirety, the look in George’s eyes was so soft and concerned that Matty felt guilty about just leaving things unanswered.

“I needed some fresh air.” He admitted, letting out a half gasp half sigh as he tried to focus on telling the story without getting too caught up in the events of the previous night and in turn, his own head. “I couldn’t sleep either, and I ended up smoking like half your pack - I mean you left them out, but I thought I might as well get you another, and then I felt awkward about just buying them… so biscuits happened.”

“You should have woken me up.” George told Matty what they very much both knew to be true. “I promise you, I wouldn’t have minded. We could have gone and got me a new pack of cigs together. You wouldn’t have even had to buy the digestives, and then I wouldn’t have scoffed them waiting for you to wake up, so then we wouldn’t have had crumbs in the bed-”

“George…” Matty let out a groan, curling in on himself and burying his head in his hands. “Stop guilt tripping me about not being a dickhead and waking you up in the middle of the night. It was nothing much really.”

George couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows, noticing the slight change in pitch of Matty’s voice as he did his best to dance awkwardly around the subject. “No offence babe, but that does imply that it’s something, does it not?”

Matty groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t ‘babe’ me.” He complained like he wasn’t blushing, like he didn’t really love it. “I’m alright. Promise.”

George eyed him warily, like he didn’t quite believe him, which of course he had reason not to. “What about last night? You were alright then in the end though, weren’t you? And you’re  _ sure _ you don’t want to talk about it? Because refusing to wake me up sounds an awful lot like you were purposefully trying to avoid talking about it, which for you usually means that you should definitely talk about it.”

Matty had to admit that George was also usually right, because he was George and he knew Matty like Matty didn’t even know himself sometimes. Of course, there was nothing Matty hated like that, but still nothing else that Matty needed nearly as much. In the end, he decided the best way to deal with his current situation was to change the subject entirely and pray that he was able to postpone the conversation at least.

“You should make me a proper breakfast, you know? Since you scoffed all the biscuits, and I’m hungry.” Matty turned on his side to face George, kissing him before he could come back with something else about talking about his feelings, and then continuing to kiss him for long enough so Matty might hope that George had forgotten all about it. 

“Nice morning breath.” George commented as Matty finally pulled away, unable to prevent himself from laughing as Matty shot him a disgruntled glare. “What? It wasn’t like you  _ had _ to kiss me.”

Matty shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t like you had to eat all the digestives either, was it?” He couldn’t help but grin at the fact that subject of talking about his feelings seemed to have evaded George’s mind for the time being.

“I didn’t eat  _ all _ of them!” George protested, sitting up a little and beginning to sound even genuinely offended at the accusation.

“Still you ate more of them than me, and you should make me a proper nice breakfast to make up for it.” Matty shot him a grin and shoving him slightly to prompt him to get out of bed. 

He did so reluctantly, as he rolled his eyes, but in the end, George did oblige. The thing was however, that he certainly hadn’t forgotten about the something that had plagued Matty’s head the night before, and how he definitely should be talking about it, regardless of what he might think.

-

It was after he’d set a plate of pancakes down on the kitchen table that George chose to bring it up again, hoping that the offer of pancakes might do something to influence Matty more into obliging and listening to what George had to say.

“Shall we talk about it now?” George leaned back in his chair, holding Matty’s gaze, and doing his best not to make it immediately that he’d noticed how Matty had suddenly tensed up all over at the mention of it.

Truthfully, Matty would much rather do pretty much anything else than actually talk about things, especially as he’d come to convince himself that the events of last night held very little value at all, but still, there was that look in George’s eyes and Matty just couldn’t help but trust him, and with that, trust his judgement too.

Matty averted his gaze down to the table, picking at his fingernails and finding really  _ anything _ in the room to keep his mind occupied with as he struggled to come to find the best way to put things. “I started thinking about things and how everything’s different, and I worked myself up because suddenly I got really uncomfortable with the person I was, because I just seemed so unfamiliar somehow.”

“Would it piss you off if I tell you that you should have woken me up to talk about it? Because I feel like I’ve said that a lot.” George offered him a smile, watching with a warm kind of concern in his eyes as Matty began to eat some breakfast as opposed to replying. As much as the impatient side to George minded very much, he had to accept that Matty did need to eat and that it was good he was.

“Yeah.” Matty eventually replied, leaning back in his chair and pulling one knee up to his chest. He brought one hand up to his head, twirling a strand of his hair around his fingers. “It would. It was just… one of those weird nights, you know?”

“Weird nights.” George repeated - his voice slow, and regarding Matty with an overemphasised confusion, counting on the fact that Matty might reply to him. “What do you mean?”

“Where your head gets a bit fucked up.” Matty continued, doing his best to avoid George’s gaze, and in particular that sad look in his eyes that seemed to split Matty right in two. “For no real reason, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess.” George shrugged, adamant not to let Matty brush it all off as nothing, however, for fear that Matty would follow suit when it came to everything he might have needed to talk to George about. “Seems like it was pretty bad for you, though, especially if it kept you up that late.”

“Could just make the day up for me, though, couldn’t you?” Matty suggested, hitting George with a daring look. “Instead of just bringing it up again and again, so you bring me back there and make me feel shitty again. Could take me out somewhere nice instead. We could have that date, I mean unless you’ve suddenly got weekend plans.”

George’s lips turned up into a smile. “That sounds like a nice idea.” He leaned forward, closer to Matty. “Do you have any specific requests, or should I just take you wherever?”

“Somewhere nice.” Matty added, as if George might take him to the worst place on the planet, like that was something he’d ever have in mind. “Not too many people either, I’m not really feeling the whole people thing today either, if that’s alright. I don’t mean to be a pain about it, you know?” His face fell into an awkward kind of sad smile.

George met him with a comforting look, reaching across the table and grabbing his hand, which was something Matty just couldn’t help but roll his eyes at. “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologise at all. Don’t ever feel like you should.”

“You’re such a sop, you know that, right?” Matty smirked across at him, unable to stop a blush creeping over his cheeks as he came to imagine just what their day might entail, because as much as George could be ridiculously romantic and affectionate at times, Matty had to admit that he loved it.

“Hey-” George protested, unable to stop himself from blushing too. “I’m taking you on a date, that’s  _ lovely _ of me, isn’t it?” He met Matty with a look, prompting him to continue and assure him that yes it was. Rolling his eyes, Matty obliged and nodded across at him. “Remember what you said about proper boyfriends, by the way.” George took a sip of his tea, before glancing across at Matty, holding his gaze, unable to prevent himself from finding amusement in the way Matty’s cheeks took all of three seconds to turn a vibrant shade of pink.

“I do remember.” Matty nodded, attempting to remain as cool and calm about the mention of the word ‘boyfriends’ as was humanly possible, but of course, because the universe hated him, his voice ended up squeaking, and he managed to stutter, all in the space of three short words.

George nodded, grinning, watching as Matty quickly grew flushed under his gaze. “Does the date have to be good? Do you have to approve of the date to approve of me as your boyfriend?”

“Well, I’m going to be a bit pissed off if it’s shit, aren’t I? But it’s not like I’m judging you as a person based on today, but…” Matty trailed off, letting his lips curl up into a smirk. “Maybe it’d be more fun like that, though.” He continued to twirl his hair around his fingers as George sat there, low-key shititng himself, despite the fact that he knew Matty was joking for the most part.

“ _ Matty _ .” George let out a groan, coming to regret even mentioning the idea in the first place.

“What?” Matty exclaimed, as if the whole situation had simply passed right over his head. “I just said it’d be more  _ fun _ . Oh come on, George, I’m not being properly serious-”

“No.” George shook his head, sitting back in his chair, before proceeding to stretch a little. Matty tried not to stare at his biceps. His attempt was very much unsuccessful. Thankfully, however, George really didn’t mind at all. “You know what, Matty?”

“Mmm?” Matty raised his eyebrows, pulling his eyes back up to George’s face again. George did his best to pretend that he hadn’t noticed him staring.

“I’m going all out.” George grinned across at him. “It’s going to be a fantastic date, and you’re going to love it, but it’s all going to be a surprise.” He watched in amusement as Matty’s eyes suddenly widened. “You should get ready, you know? Not fancy though, just casual. I’m not taking you out for like a five hundred pound dinner or something.”

“Not after we’ve just ate breakfast, you’re not.” Matty insisted, tucking his hair back behind his ears. “Especially since you’ve had all of those biscuits. Can you even eat anymore food today?”

George rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” He leaned back in his chair, watching as Matty finished his cup of tea. “You’re such a dickhead, you know that? You’re absolutely lovely, but you’re  _ such _ a dickhead.”

Matty’s face lit up with a smile, seemingly very proud of George’s description. “Thank you.” He nodded across the table. “You are too.”

“I’m taking you on a special surprise date, I don’t know how I’m a dickhead in all of this.” George retorted, making much more of a point out of being offended than was necessary, because really, George wasn’t all that fussed at all.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t practically  _ tell _ you too.” Matty made what was actually a very good point, but still, George definitely had the right kind of sentiment about things, and perhaps it was that which really counted for something.

“Yeah.” George nodded, laughing a little. “Let’s pretend.”

Matty rolled his eyes, stretching out against his chair and watching as George got up from the table and began to make some sort of vague attempt at clearing things away. Really, he felt as if he ought to be helping in some way, but George hadn’t prompted him to do so and Matty was more than prepared to remain sitting staring at George for a few minutes. Him not asking it of Matty might have had something to do with the whole ‘making me feel shitty about last night’ comment Matty had thrown in earlier, which was perhaps something that Matty should have felt a little guilty about, but he was more than prepared to ignore it.

He sat instead, searching through his head, for the slightest hint of a suggestion as to what George might have planned, or really come up with in the space of two minutes, for them for the day. It had to have stemmed from something someone had said to him recently - in fact, Matty wouldn’t have even been surprised if George had been texting Ross under the table as they’d eaten breakfast. 

Regardless of where it had all come from though, Matty definitely appreciated it wholeheartedly, along with the opportunity to finally properly refer to George as his boyfriend, because maybe he was a pathetic romantic type like that too.

-

The sky was a sort of unrealistic, unachievable shade of blue that Matty couldn’t bring himself to fully believe in. With his head rested against the car window beside the passenger seat, he let his eyes flicker closed once again: fading in and out of conscious as the world wrapped itself around him. Everything smelled like George with him sat driving beside him, and his jumper in Matty’s lap, and his things all over the car, and of course, a little bag of weed in the glove compartment because George was an idiot like that. 

Matty’s head spun around with bright shades of summer blue - a sky that might be worth looking at for once in his life, the warm glow of sunlight through the window, sending an odd tingling sensation onto his skin. He sat there, feigning sleep and a general lack of consciousness as his ears caught onto the sound of George mumbling on quietly along to the song on the radio - something Matty didn’t recognise, but something that George apparently did.

George had also been yet to give him the slightest hint of a clue as to what this all amounted to, especially with a car journey that had already gone on for much longer than Matty had anticipated it being. If he had known George had planned on driving for upwards of forty minutes, he might have brought his headphones, or a book or something. At the very least the circumstances of the previous night and the little amount of sleep he’d gotten in consequence, had made it very easy for him to doze off, even with his neck curving uncomfortably as he pressed his head up against the window.

As Matty opened his eyes again, the world faded back in around him as if it had very little hurry in doing so: everything appearing awfully fuzzy and blurred at first - colours too bright, and the contrast on everything far too high. He zoned back in again on George’s fingers, and the way he tapped them gently on the top of the steering wheel, stretching back against the seat as they stood in traffic for a moment. Matty listened to the sounds of cars rushing past, growing slowly louder over the radio as the song ended and faded out, along with George’s voice, which had drifted out to a mumble, and then a hum, and then nothingness.

“Are you planning on kidnapping me or something?” Matty began, seeming to near enough give George a heart attack, as he turned around in his seat, face turning bright red, as he evidently had thought Matty to be asleep, which had likely been why he’d ended up singing along to the radio. Matty couldn’t help but find it awfully sweet really. “I mean, how long have we been driving now? Seven hours?”

“Thirty five minutes.” George corrected him, meeting Matty with nervous kind of smile, taking in his legs folded up awkwardly as he leaned back against the car door. “Thought you fell asleep. You should get some sleep, you know? You didn’t get much last night.”

Matty smirked, stretching his legs out and up onto the dashboard, which George thought to protest against, but only rolled his eyes in response to, accepting that his protests would be unlikely to get him anywhere. “Was that why you were singing?”

George blushed a proper bright red. It was really quite comical, or at least Matty definitely thought so. From the look held in George’s eyes however, it was likely that he really might have disagreed. 

“Don’t let me  _ interrupt _ you.” Matty exclaimed, gasping a little in mock horror at the notion of George stopping singing. “It was quite nice, really.” Matty admitted - not even over exaggerating slightly this time. “You’ve got a lovely voice.”

George scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Matty, as well as you might mean, we both know you’d tell me I have a beautiful fingernail.” He glanced across at Matty with a look - the two just as well aware of the fact that George was right. Still, Matty would argue that it didn’t detract from his compliment at all.

“I bet you do have a beautiful fingernail, though.” Matty offered, glancing across at George’s hands on the steering wheel, and although he found himself much more fixated by George’s long fingers and his hands in general, he had to admit that his fingernails were pretty nice too.

“There we go.” George shook his head in disbelief, turning to Matty and meeting him with a smile.

“What does that mean?” Matty shot him a glance, almost offended, but more so confused and slightly amused by the situation. Overall, a little bit drowsy, with his head still pressed up against the window.

“It’s just that I think you might be very biased, you know?” George explained, unable to halt the hammering of his heart in his chest as Matty closed his eyes: long lashes fluttering gracefully against his cheeks, reddening slightly, although more of a slight pink than a proper red blush. “I think, that  _ realistically _ , my singing voice is really kind of shit.”

“I think you’re just saying that to prove a point.” Matty insisted, stretching his arms out behind his head, and adjusting the way he was leaning against the window to press his head back into his arms. “I’m certain of it.” Through it all, he kept his feet up on the dashboard, and his eyes closed, as he was really rather content in his current position, and the moment itself: the extended moment of being there, in George’s car, the two of them, on a journey that seemed to have no clear destination or end. Matty reckoned there was something special about that.

“Are you now?” George raised his eyebrows, meeting Matty with a questioning smile. Matty let out a muffled little sound of agreement as he turned his head back to face the window. George did want to prompt more for him, but he looked a beautiful kind of peaceful like that, and he reckoned he just didn’t have it within himself to disturb him like that.

George ended up leaving Matty like that for the next half an hour or so, because as much as he did want to just chat shit to him for the rest of their lives, Matty needed his sleep, and it wasn’t like George didn’t think Matty was a whole new kind of beautiful when he slept. He had planned to leave Matty like that for the rest of the journey, especially as they were definitely getting closer, nearly there, or at least they should have been, if George hadn’t managed to fuck up somehow somewhere.

He wasn’t lost. He  _ definitely _ wasn’t lost. George definitely had a sense of direction, thank you very much. He  _ definitely _ knew exactly where he was headed, and he definitely didn’t have any issues with doing it, and safely getting the two of them there. He was just getting a little agitated with it all.

“Fuck.” He cursed, leaning back in his seat, peering awkwardly out of the window to do his best to get a glimpse of the road signs before they whizzed past them. “Fucking  _ hell _ .” His voice grew louder, as did his drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel - very much impatient with the whole situation.

“What?” Matty’s voice startled him, or perhaps even the both of them as it came out as a half garbled mess, with his eyes slowly fixating upon George and the rather disgruntled look set across his face. “What’s going on?” He pulled a hand up and pushed his hair back out of his face, before he stretched his legs out and moved so he was sat upright in his seat. 

George was still yet to respond. Matty took his silence as an opportunity to use his initiative and glanced around, following George’s gaze out of the windows and towards the road signs. He put that together with the persistent drumming of his fingertips against the steering wheel, and the nervous kind of look set deep in his eyes.

“Are you  _ lost _ ?” He broke into a smile, watching the way George flushed a deep shade of red in response. “Oh my god, George.” Matty wasn’t fussed at all, as George had imagined that he might have been, but was instead just so very amused by the whole situation. “Do you want my help? Because I would help, but I have no idea where we’re going, do I?”

George rolled his eyes, pulling his gaze away from Matty and focusing on the road for a minute longer. The two sat in silence as Matty attempted to fully wake up, taking in their surroundings and wondering if he could help somewhat from them. It was as he began to read the road signs that he realised that they really had travelled quite the way from home, which certainly hadn’t been what Matty had originally thought George had meant by going all out.

“Jesus, George.” He commented, turning his head backwards to properly catch another road sign before it whizzed past them and faded into a blur of nothingness amongst the vast expanse of motorway stretching out behind them. “Where exactly are we going? Why are we going so far?”

“I’m not spoiling the surprise.” George insisted, his voice barely more than an agitated mutter as he kept his gaze fixated sternly upon the road, which was really what he should have been doing, since he was driving, after all.

“There’s not going to be a surprise if we don’t get there.” Matty reminded him, irritating George a little, who couldn’t help but finding himself searching for a degree of arrogance in Matty’s tone, even when it was barely there at all. “There’s not.” He continued, eyes growing softer as he read George’s response from his body language: the way his shoulders tensed up, and he curled in on himself, his face reddening as his gaze was set so firmly upon one spot that he couldn’t really be looking at anything at all.

“We’re not fucking lost.” George exclaimed, letting out a sigh that seemed to instantly relieve all the tension held throughout his body. “I’ve just gone the wrong way, and we’ll be fine in a minute.” He assured Matty, well in all honesty, he was doing a much better job of assuring himself of that fact than he was Matty, who continued to watch him with an ever increasing degree of skepticism.

“You’ve gone the wrong way…” Matty nodded, grinning at George. “ _ Because _ you’re lost.” George rolled his eyes, letting out a particularly over exaggerated sigh in response.

“I’m not  _ lost _ -” George protested, or at least attempted to, because the thing was that he really didn’t get that far, as Matty’s voice rather quickly came in to cut him off.

“You’re lost.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of a questioning tone in Matty’s voice anymore. He leant forward in his seat and peered out of the window, attempting to get a better idea of where they were and where they might be going. “Come on,  _ where _ are we going? I’ll get it up on my phone-”

“I don’t need  _ directions _ .” George insisted, attempting to keep up the pretence that this was a well planned and coordinated date in any shape, way, or form. Of course, however, George really  _ did _ need directions, but he wasn’t letting his pride down that easily.

Matty just stared at George: entirely unimpressed. As it became obvious that George had little else to say for himself, Matty decided to take the initiative of reaching towards George’s pocket and grabbing his phone out of it himself.

“Hey!” George retorted, glancing across at Matty with wide eyes that held quite a well perfected look of confusion. “What are you doing?” He reached across back towards his phone, gesturing for Matty to place it back in his palm.

“Eyes on the road.” Matty insisted, raising his voice as he moved George’s phone out of his reach. “If you get us into a car crash and kill me that’s going to be really unromantic, I’m telling you that now, so keep your eyes on the road, alright.”

George huffed, desperate to argue further, but really, Matty was right about the whole not killing them thing, so he obliged for the time being, watching nervously out of the corner of his eye as Matty somehow managed to unlock his phone within seconds. “How do you- I never told you my passcode!” He wasn’t sure how offended he was supposed to be by this all, as he struggled to comprehend just how Matty might have managed to obtain that bit of information so easily.

“It’s your own birth year, it’s not  _ particularly _ hard to guess.” Matty rolled his eyes, opening the maps app and looking through George’s search history, because surely he’d had a vague look at where this place was before setting off, but Matty did sit there, half prepared for George’s lack of organisation to shock him once more. “Oh.”

“What?” George asked, his tone a little nervous as he continued to glance at the road signs that they passed. “What does ‘oh’ mean?” Matty’s hesitance in answering his question really wasn’t helping with the level of anxiety building inside George at all.

“Look.” Matty put George’s phone down on the dashboard and leaned forward, gesturing to a road turning off the main motorway. “You’ve missed the turn off, but you can go that way, it’s like…” He glanced back down at George’s phone. “Another fifteen minutes, but we’ll get there.”

“To the…” George began, anxious that Matty was yet to comment upon his destination of choice, and how his every plan to make it this wonderful surprise that Matty would wake up to was now ruined.

“Seaside.” Matty finished for him, curling his lips up into a smile.

“And?” George blushed, attempting to gauge Matty’s response, as he followed his instructions and turned off the motorway where Matty had pointed out for him. “What do you think?”

Matty blushed as he leaned back in his seat. “Cute. You could have picked somewhere closer though, I don’t really like car journeys.” He added, as if George had asked for constructive criticism on his date planning.

“Wanted it to be something interesting, you know? Make this day better.” George told him, turning the radio up again now that Matty was awake again and they were safely unlost, or so they were sure. “Thought you’d like that more than just going somewhere you’ve been a million times before.”

Matty nodded, coming to appreciate the surprising amount of thought that George had apparently put into this. “Yeah, I get you. That’s really sweet actually.”

“Would have been better if it was a surprise.” George let out a great sigh of disappointment, horribly agitated with himself that he’d managed to get fucking lost on this one journey, of all journeys. “I could have got on the way back, that would have been fine, but not on the way there.”

“It’s fine.” Matty assured him, reaching up and pulling his hair back into a bun. He bit his lip as he caught his reflection in the side mirror, brushing a few stray curls out of his face. “I really appreciate it, you know? Thank you. I had a shitty night last night, even though I said it was alright, it really wasn’t. Don’t make me talk about it though,  _ please _ .” He shot George a begging look, to which George nodded, settling for the calm and peaceful atmosphere they settled into together. “Thank you for this.”

“It’s alright.” George did at first try to hide his blush, reckoning that it might have been a little bit pathetic, but as he glimpsed a very similar shade of red upon Matty’s face too, he came to accept that maybe there was little use in hiding it at all. “You’re welcome.” He added, feeling as if his previous response might have been a little on the pathetic side.

“There we go.” Matty broke into a grin, hiding his face behind his hands. “Proper boyfriend material, that isn’t it? I get a ‘you’re welcome’ and everything.” 

He couldn’t help but stumble a little as he pushed the words out, attempting to convey that he might have been much more casual about this all than he actually was. He didn’t imagine that he was fooling George in the slightest, but still, it seemed to count for something.

George’s cheeks only grew redder in response, the words ‘proper boyfriend’ really striking a chord in him. “You do.” He nodded, grinning almost obscenely wide. “You do.”

-

The world seemed to shimmer in shades of white and gold - not excessively so, not with a falsified shine, but with the natural glow of the rays of the sun and the warmth of the world, on perhaps the one day so far that year when the weather was more than just a pathetic excuse for what it should have been. The day felt too good, like it was held together so perfectly that eventuality would only call for everything to fall back down into pieces any time soon. Perhaps it was that which had him holding George’s hand tighter as the two walked through the town and down towards the beach.

Their pace was slow, in no way of a hurry to get there as the early afternoon settled in comfortably around them. As much as this was a new place and far from where they’d grown up, Matty couldn’t help but feel as if he belonged right there, in that very day and that very moment, with the gentle breeze against his skin and George right beside him.

He felt more at ease, as if he really was his own skin and bones, and not just a heavy heart and tired eyes hidden away inside himself. Perhaps it was down to how much quieter the place was - just a little seaside town, with long streets of houses gleaming white in the sun, extended boardwalks and overpriced ice cream, and people sweating and sunburnt lobster red in no more than twenty degrees of heat. It was the comforting kind of quaint - something Matty might have once recognised from a picture book, setting his heart to a steady, gentle rhythm in his chest, even as he interlocked his fingers with George’s, walking down the street in broad daylight.

It was a bit ridiculous, really. Yet despite himself such worries had spent a sizeable amount of time at the forefront of Matty’s mind, especially recently, as things escalated, and especially that day, as they become what Matty had called ‘proper boyfriends’. The thing was that Matty would argue that he was now decently comfortable and confident with his sexuality, but that only when as far as with himself and his close circle of friends. It was very much a different story when it came to other people, to the rest of the world, to the odd looks people gave them on the street sometimes.

He never wanted to let it get to him, because if it didn’t get to him then it was all pointless for them and that was justice in a way, but he couldn’t help it sometimes. He couldn’t help the hammering of his heart in his chest: banging desperately against his ribcage for a way to escape and leap right up his throat, out of his mouth, to fall out onto the pavement before him. He definitely wasn’t one for defining himself to fit into the ideals of strangers and random people on the street, but there was no way around the fact that people said things sometimes, and that Matty wasn’t very good at not taking things personally.

Matty couldn’t quite figure as to whether it was the town, and the seclusion that had almost wrapped the two of them in a blanket of anonymity - a town where no one knew them, a place they never had to come back to. Or the events of the previous night, the conclusions he’d managed to reach inside his own bed, the digestive biscuits, the crumbs they left in bed, and the apologetic smile on George’s face that morning. Or perhaps the sentiment of it all - the way George seemed to always understand him in ways that Matty forever found himself growing to trust more and more. Perhaps last year George had been the person he’d wanted, but this time around George was the person he  _ needed _ . Perhaps it was that really setting in along with an unfathomably blue horizon and the smell of the sea so real and indisputable on the air.

George watched as a large grin set over Matty’s face. Confused as to what had caused it, he followed Matty’s gaze out across to the horizon, but struggled to find much of significance beyond the horizon, and the way the sea so gradually faded out in the blue of the skyline. “What is it?” He wondered aloud, running a hand back through his hair and taking another glance around, this time even squinting a little.

“What do you mean?” Matty turned to George: yet to quite catch onto what he had been referring to, as he’d only just managed to drag himself properly down and out of his own head, and the peaceful ephemera of his thoughts and the neat little rows of houses that surrounded them on either side of the street.

“That smile.” George turned back to face him, watching as Matty’s smile faltered slightly and his cheeks filled with a warm shade of pink.

Matty’s face contorted in an expression of embarrassment, attempting to avoid his blush, growing ever brighter on his cheeks, and the way George’s eyes held his gaze so firmly through it out all. “What?” He retorted comically. “Am I not allowed to smile now?”

“That’s not what I meant.” George rolled his eyes, letting out a pathetically nasally. excuse for a laugh. “I was wondering what made you smile like that. You had that look in your eyes - the one when you’re  _ really _ happy. You don’t get it as much as you should, I like seeing it, I like seeing you happy.”

Matty scoffed, attempting to hide his ever reddening face behind his hair, but finding that he wasn’t exactly succeeding in his endeavours. “Shut up.” He groaned, feeling George’s eyes so very reluctant to leave his face. He had that look in them like he wanted to kiss him, and Matty couldn’t deny that he recognised it instantly.

It took him what was quite a great deal longer than instantly however to bring himself to address it. He hated the way he glanced so anxiously around him, only turning back to George when he was wholeheartedly content in the fact that no one was looking at them or showing them any particular interest or attention. As he did so, he couldn’t help but wish for a world in which he didn’t have to do that, where the thought wouldn’t even cross his mind, but this was a good day, one of his best, and he couldn’t wish for the entire world and expect to receive it all entirely intact.

Then, with the breeze blowly back through his hair, and his fingers trembling slightly, that he reached up and pulled George into kiss him. It was gentle, slow, but still over before Matty could really comprehend what was going on. 

As the two parted, George looked down at Matty with an understanding in his eyes, like one kissed had managed to speak for their entire world, and as they stood there, much more within each other than anything else, even as they stood physically apart, Matty understood on levels that just weren’t enough words in the English language to allow him to express.

“You make me happy.” Matty muttered, his words like breath against a cold window - condensation on a winter’s day, but it was May going on June, and his breath wasn’t cold anymore.

Still, George relinked their fingers, understanding wholeheartedly. “You make me happy too.” He added in response, watching the way Matty’s eyes darted up to meet his, to then regard him softly, yet nervously, a little like a startled deer. “Does proper boyfriends start now?” He asked, running a hand back through his hair absent mindedly.

“Proper boyfriends started ages ago really.” Matty admitted, letting the most vibrant of blushes set in upon his face.

“Did it now?” George raised his eyebrows: his tone much more calm and collected than he was inside. As in reality, it was something close to fireworks that were exploding inside of his chest.

“Yeah.” Matty nodded, reaching up and tying his hair back out of his face. “It did.” He assured him, taking George’s hand back in his as they continued to walk down the street, letting the world set in around them like it was nothing more than an old friend: beautiful in shades of white, blue, and gold.

-

They’d gone off in search of somewhere more secluded, away from the mess of tourists, and families of five, clustered across the main front of the beach, set down on the golden sand with their abhorrently gaudy beach towels and sun burnt chests, with little kids running off and playing the gentle waves. Matty had quite literally dragged George down past an outcrop of rocks and along to a more secluded bay a little way down the shoreline. The dragging related to the fact that through this all, Matty had been very reluctant when it came to letting go of George’s hand.

As much as George didn’t much like being pulled on ahead as he dragged behind, whilst carrying all of their stuff, not to mention, he still found it awfully endearing, although to some degree, he was certain that was just Matty that he found quite so lovely.

Soon enough, they sat down under the shade of the rocks that loomed in a half eroded cliff face overhead, George dumping their bags down beside Matty, before stretching his legs out across the sand. This area of the beach had closed itself off into a small little bay, that was just as awkwardly shaped as it had been awkward to get to: making their way over rocks, and over dodgy winding pathways. It was overall quite small, with no more than ten metres between the lapping waves of the tide and the steep ascent of the cliff face at the back of the bay, and not much further lengthways, but it was certainly more than enough for the two of them and their own company.

Matty sat back against the rocks, letting his head fall back into the shade, as George stretched his body out across the sand, stopping for a minute to take his shirt off, which might have been entirely unnecessary, considering that it was still England, and although abnormally good weather, still just the end of May. The fact of the matter was however that regardless of technicalities, Matty definitely didn’t have any complaints of any form in regards to George lying there shirtless beside him.

“Not to be incredibly gay or anything, but…” Matty began, reaching over into his bag for his sunglasses and putting them on, only to decide that they didn’t make all that much difference at all, and instead pushing them up over onto the top of his head. 

“Mhmm?” George queried, peering over at Matty, finding that the words ‘incredibly gay’ had certainly piqued his interest.

Matty took a moment to stare at George’s chest, almost seeming to glisten ridiculous in the sunlight, before continuing. “But… you should take your shirt off all the time.”

George let out a groan, reaching his hands up to bury his face in them, even going as far as to roll over onto his front and hide his chest from Matty’s ‘incredibly gay’ gaze. “ _ Fuck off _ .” He protested, sitting up a little as he rubbed his eyes, meeting Matty with a defeated expression as he sat there giggling, no less.

“It’s true.” Matty argued, smirking across at George, who made quite the point of turning around so Matty didn’t make any more horribly embarrassing comments about his chest. Matty knew how best to respond to his, of course. “Your back’s nice too. Fuck, I love your shoulderblades-”

“ _ Matty _ .” George seemed close to punching himself in the face as he moved closer to his boyfriend, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him out onto the sand next to him. “You’re disgusting.” He told him, before promptly kissing him, going all out and practically eating his face off. Matty couldn’t help but find a great amusement in the irony of that.

For a while after that, the two lay together, in the peace and silence of a shared solitude, and watching the sun begin its descent from midday to afternoon, and how the world around them didn’t seem to grow darker, but instead began to burn in shades of yellow and orange, soon to set shadows and reflections across the water as the sun began to fall in the sky. As perpetual and magical as it did seem to be, the day was a day like any other, and the sun would set as it had always done, the day would end like it always would, and they’d get up and get home as they always had.

Matty had expected that he might find comfort in that, and the monotonous reliability of it all, but this time around he couldn’t say that for himself at all. He wanted this all to last for ever, to lock himself away inside the world, and his own vision of it in that particular moment, in the steady rise and fall of George’s chest, and his head against it. In the gentle rise and fall of the tide, lapping and out of the shore. He felt like he might bury himself there underneath the sun and die a happy death, but in the same breath he could only dream of so much more to live for, and his heart beginning to race in his chest as the wind picked up and a colder chill washed over them.

It seemed to rouse George a little, who’d drifted almost half off to sleep for a moment there. “Mmm…” He stretched out, accidentally elbowing Matty in the face as he did so, which was all in all, very romantic, of course. “Fuck… sorry…” He sat up, rubbing his eyes, unable to stop a smile from settling over as his lips as Matty continued to glare at him, making quite the point out of doing so.

“You’re an idiot.” Matty told him, glancing up at the sky, and watching the skies turn a dull grey out of what seemed to be nowhere at all. “Fuck… it looks like it’s going to rain, doesn’t it?”

George nodded, following Matty’s gaze up to the sky, and mentally cursing himself for not even bothering to check the weather for that day, because really, with how nice it had been earlier, it had always just been coming. “Looks like it.” He agreed, reaching for his shirt and pulling it back over his head. He returned to watch the sky for a minute or so, losing himself up in his own head for a short while before he continued. “Do you think we should go?”

Matty gave a short nod. “Mmm… probably.” He shrugged, getting to his feet, reaching one hand out against the rocks to support himself as he did so. “Shame, though.”

“Yeah.” George gave a nod, looking out across to the horizon. “This was a good day, though, wasn’t it?” He turned back to Matty, swallowing his own breath as he awaited his response.

“Course.” Matty gave a nod of reassurance. “The best.” His lips turned up into a smile. “Only the best.”

-

It properly started raining on the journey back, with Matty’s head against the car window in much the same way he had been before, eyes however, focused on the front window, on the raindrops rolling down the glass, only to be washed away by the windscreen wipers every few moments. The radio was on louder this time, but George wasn’t singing along, much more conscious of Matty’s eyes: wide and open, watching the whole world pass them by as the skies finally began to darken.

It had been a good day: the kind that left Matty’s heart unable to settle in his chest. There was a buzzing feeling throughout his veins, stretching to his bones, and he figured that this might be what it meant to feel so alive and in love with the world all at once. He yearned to feel like this forever, for the rest of his time, for the rest of time itself. Perhaps growing up was coming to accept that things like that didn’t usually happen. But perhaps growing to live with yourself was coming to accept that nothing could happen if you didn’t believe.

Matty had stumbled awkwardly into adulthood. It had always been so. He’d tripped over his own feet, and struggled to stretch out and grow into his own shoes, with shirt sleeves, too long and draping down past his fingertips. Everything evened out in the end though, and Matty had really come to appreciate that the world just had an awful knack for putting itself back together no matter how much you stretched it out and no matter how many pieces you broke it into.

This day had been more than a date, more than the start of proper boyfriends, more than a day to pinpoint as the real beginning of his life, more than beautiful skylines and smiles that were more beautiful still. It was instead a turning point, the realisation that things did work if you let them, and that there wasn’t always one path to take and one way to get out of the woods in the end. It was learning to value the trust in others, and learning to value himself, learning to fit into his own shoes and say ‘I love you’ like he meant it with his entire soul, because now he felt that his soul was finally in enough of a state to mean anything at all.

“Thank you.” Matty’s words drifted into the air with more ease than he could ever imagine they would. 

George pricked up at that, glancing sideways momentarily in recognition of the words having left Matty’s lips. “For what?”

“Everything.” Matty muttered in response, letting his eyelids flicker closed before George could even have the chance to respond or ask him to explain. It was in the moments of silence that followed that George came to accept that overall, in the end, he understood.

The day ended as it had started, with the two of them curled up around each other in bed, the packet of cigarettes on the nightstand, and Matty with far too much to say about the crumbs George had left in bed. The thing was that this time around, this night, Matty didn’t sit up smoking alone, and the only thoughts his mind carried on past midnight were kept in his dreams. Two that morning saw nothing but closed eyes and sleepy smiles and the night was a good one.

It wasn’t proper boyfriends that had changed things, it wasn’t the date that had changed things, but what that all really did mean. That came in feelings and colours across their hearts and minds that didn’t quite translate into words - it came in the form of everything, too raw, too real for anyone else to quite understand.

What Matty did understand that this was it - this was how everything really did change now. This was the change for good, this was really his own life, built in the most beautiful colours, painted in an idealistic caricature of his own image. This was feeling excitement for the morning, and yearning for an infinite number of tomorrows to lounge around in - just the two of them, forever more.

-


	10. ITS THE END KIDS

“It’s like…” The air grew still, grew cold: quiet, complacent, with the pause. With the way his words had faded out, slowly like the steady rise and fall of his chest, just an intake of words, just a moment to think and watch the rain fall. To watch it fall gently against the windows: cold glass, half covered by blinds, all in shades of off white. The whole room indeed, seemed to exist in only shades of off white, but the rain, the rain hit the glass with a steady pounding like the footsteps of dozens of small children, like it held all the innocence and wonder left in the world, and every single colour too.

It was June and every colour stuck in his throat like poisonous gas, like a part of the world that had suddenly become foreign: something for his body to reject and repel with every ounce of force left in the world. But it was June, and he sat there alive. He sat there alive and well, with the arms inside of his mind, reaching out and grasping, grasping for a hope, for a simple concept, for a simple idea of what it all might mean. 

For so long it seemed hopeless, frozen in thought and time, like the words in his throat. Except nothing had stalled around him, and he did nothing to stop his eyes from watching the steady ticking of the clock with an intense obsession. He did nothing. He sat in silence. The two of them did. Except it wasn’t hopeless, because he had seen hopeless first hand and where he sat now was worlds away, and unquestionably so. The proof of that lay simply in the inevitable: the very moment that everything came together.

Four thirty eight. Almost to the dot. The ice around him melted, his hands grew warm again, and he watched the rain, he watched the passing of the world outside, in its thousands of colours, and breathed.  _ Breathed _ . Properly. Not with shaky, shallow breaths, but with a wholehearted motion, with his all given to his lungs, and finally coming to untie the knot that had wedged itself deep inside his chest. That was when it had began to all make sense. Finally.

He’d found comfort in the temporary silence, in what he knew would come to pass, and to the extent that he faced reluctance in letting go, but he did so regardless. Because suddenly the world felt so light around him, like no longer a solid great heavy weight, but just grains of sand, seeping through the cracks between his fingers. As the rain worsened outside, perhaps letting go was all that there was left to do.

But it was four forty one before he opened his mouth to speak again. They had time, but perhaps never enough. Still, he hadn’t come to sit in silence, to wrap his own worst thoughts around himself a million times over, smothering him like a fog that he could never escape. Still, it was four forty two before the words actually came out.

“It’s like it’s the middle of summer. A hot summer, where you lie down in the sun, and to the rest of the world you’re just sunbathing, but you physically can’t get up anymore because of how much your skin has cracked and burned. It’s like everyone around you is praising the warmth, the gentle summer sun, but they’ve all somehow forgotten that it’s burning, unbelievably hot to the touch and it hasn’t rained in months. Like there’s a drought but suddenly you’re the only one who needs to drink to survive. No one can help you, because no one can understand and you can’t make them understand, because they don’t see you burning out there in the sun, they see you lying there wasting away, you’re  _ lazy _ in everyone else’s eyes. It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you can get up, because you  _ have _ to get up. Everyone is either yelling at you to get up or they’ve walked on, they’ve left you out there to die - they’ve given up, and eventually everyone will. So you have to pull yourself up in the end.”

He felt his lips drying around the words: innately opposed to letting them out, to slipping the truth in its purest form, to spinning the world on its head in the hope of making better sense of the mess of indistinguishable letters and words when you were upside down. He wanted more than anything to stop talking, to close eyes, and to let the nothingness that lay behind them swallow him whole. But he didn’t.

He didn’t. He opened his eyes wider than ever before and fixated on the rain, on the world outside and how even the most dull shades of grey seemed beautiful in his mind, because it was colour, wet and glistening in the rain outside, and nothing had ever seemed so much more alive. He found himself forgetting sometimes, just what everything was really like. That they were just people, and words were just words, and they could only ever hold the power you gave to them.

“It hurts. It’s so hard to pull yourself up because it hurts so much, and just staying there forever is so much easier in comparison, and you want to give up, you want to do that, every step of the way, because in the heat, it’s like your skin is bright red, it’s blistering against the concrete below you, and whenever you move slightly it’s like your whole body’s on fire. But no one else feels it at all, everyone else moves like they’ve never felt more free in the world, and it’s not that they just don’t understand. They just don’t believe you, because they can’t  _ possibly _ imagine it. But it’s real, it’s the realest thing you’ve felt in your whole life. It’s overwhelming, smothering you, like it might one day just consume you whole, and that one day you might just let it. But you finally get to your feet, and you think getting up might be the worst of it, but it’s not, because you’re not safe, it’s not over, that’s just the start. Because once you’ve got to your feet out in the burning heat, you’ve got to make it out of the desert. Everyone around you has either already long gone, or they’re running so fast around you that you just can’t keep up, because you haven’t got the strength, you haven’t got the slightest bit of your energy in your body at all. You can barely walk, let alone run, and you’re just dragging your feet against the ground, like concrete out in the summer sun, burning and blistering the soles of your feet. With every step your whole body is on fire and your lungs feel like they might collapse because you haven’t had a drink in so long it’s like you’ve forgotten what water is, but you don’t die. You don’t ever just  _ die _ , because although it feels like the realest thing in the world, it’s not tangible, you can’t  _ touch _ it, there’s no fucking desert, that’s just all what it feels like, it’s all just feelings in your head.”

“And do you feel like that still? How much of the time?” The second voice was calming, slow, borderline monotone, and had totalled just about all of twenty words in the past hour or so.

“Not so much anymore. It used to be a constant, just sometimes fading out slightly in the back of my mind, but now it only comes back when things get bad, but it doesn’t stay long anymore.” He finished, unable to stop a small smile from creeping over his lips. “It’s all getting better now. It’s like that was the drought, and now it rains everyday, for hours and hours.”

“And that’s a comfort? The rain? Physically?”

“Yeah.” He gave a nod. “I like to watch the rain. It makes me feel alive, it makes me feel real. It’s always a reminder of what I’ve come through, but in a way that helps. It’s a comfort, because if I’ve come this far, I can keep going. I think things are only going to get better. They have to.”

Perhaps, however, in a moment of all confusion, saying those words aloud had instantly outweighed the importance of any feeling he’d felt before, because this was the world, and it seemed all the more tangible, all the more real, once you’ve finally come to make sense of it. Or perhaps Matty just found himself far too relieved to finally get such a weight off his chest. Either way, it counted for quite the something, and perhaps that was all he really needed to know.

-

He’d walked out of the doctor’s office and into town, pulling his jacket tightly in around him in order to shelter himself from odd winds that seemed so oddly out of place for early June. Matty found the jacket to be slightly too big for him, which seemed to work to his advantage in his current situation as it provided him just that little bit more shelter from the weather that day. It came coupled with anxiety though, as he checked the jacket all over at least a dozen times, fearing that he might have accidentally picked up George’s again, because he just couldn’t help but feel guilty about getting George’s jacket wet, let alone soaked through, which seemed about the way things were going that day. It was however definitely his, as he finally came to conclude, just a little on the larger side it seemed.

He quickened his pace, eyes scanning the street as he looked for a place to shelter to light himself a cigarette, and just calm his breathing for a while. He needed a moment, a cigarette really - the both, perhaps. It was after a good five minutes of walking that he managed to find himself the space underneath the overhanging roof of a bank, creating shelter beside the two ATMs.

Matty made an effort to position himself as far away as possible from the queue of middle aged customers, who all looked significantly more respectable than he did, as he stood there in an oversized jacket and a pair of black jeans, not looking far off a vaguely emo drenched rat. He’d decided however that he was having a good day, one where he didn’t care what other people thought of him, and even found himself inviting them to stare as he pulled his hair back into a bun, keeping it out of his face, before reaching into his jacket pocket for his lighter and pack of cigarettes.

It was with a cigarette slotted almost elegantly between two skinny fingers, and brought up to his lips to take a drag only occasionally, that he finally took out his phone, checking the time quickly, before sending a text to George. The text was something vague and badly spelt that just detailed exactly where Matty had ended up, with some incessant complaint about how much it was raining added onto the end in the hopes that it might have encouraged George to pick him up sooner. They’d already discussed how George would pick Matty up after he finished at work in a great amount of detail the night before, so there was little detail that he really needed to convey via text. Matty might have even put that down as the only good side to the persistent nature of his anxiety.

It was as he found himself just about to slot his phone back into his jacket pocket, that he found it vibrating in his fingers, almost causing him to roll his eyes as he unlocked it again to see that George had actually texted him back instantly for what Matty was pretty certain was the first time in his life.

George’s response was short and easily as badly put together as Matty’s had been, so of course they really were perfect for each other. He’d simply said that he was on his way, followed by a ridiculous amount of unnecessary and largely irrelevant emojis. Still, Matty couldn't help but smile at the text, and find it just that little bit endearing, because knowing George, he’d put more thought into carefully selecting those emojis than Matty could could ever begin to imagine.

Matty smiled at the thought, putting his phone away for real that time, and leaning back against the wall, watching the rain as he continued to smoke away his cigarette. As much as he found an odd kind of comfort in his current situation, he didn’t half wish that George could turn up sooner, not only because he was cold and he just wanted to go home, but because George was easily his favourite person in the world and he missed him. As pathetic as he knew that sounded, it was true, and that was just that.

In the time he had to himself out in the rain, the time he had in the comfort and safety of his own head and his own thoughts, he came to reflect. He came to reflect on just how much everything had changed, on the person he’d become, and how the person he had been stood suddenly so small, so out of sight, in his shadow. This was getting better, this was himself made anew, this was the hope for the future, this was for making the whole rainbow out of yellow, red, and blue.

Oddly enough, he found himself reflecting the kind of person he hadn’t believed ever truly existed. That being someone who was something close to truly happy. Someone who lived the world for itself and the way it was. Someone happy, someone truly alive. Looking back, he never would have thought he’d really gotten out of bed back in January, but he did, he did finally get up, and he did finally try, and he did finally find himself smoking in June, watching the rain go by, as he searched for George’s car amidst the sea of vehicles travelling down the road. Despite all odds, despite everything, despite the world itself, he was here. That meant something, and Matty was sure of that.

-

It wasn’t long past five by the time Matty found himself in the passenger seat, closing the car door behind him with perhaps more force than had been necessary, to sit there for a moment, relishing in the wind and the rain outside, stopping at the glass, as he sat there, feeling entirely untouchable, and above the reach of the rest of the world.

“How did it go?” George leaned over towards the dashboard and turned the radio down in order to give Matty space to talk. Suddenly, as much as Matty had found whatever George had been listening to rather questionable, he couldn’t shake the immediate resentment he found for the quiet.

“Alright.” Matty gave a shrug, pulling his jacket off and grimacing as a drop of water rolled off onto his jeans. “I mean… it was good. I don’t know. It was kind of weird, but it was a good… a good weird.” He continued, letting out a sigh as he folded the jacket up and placed it on the floor beside his feet. 

“Do I maybe get the idea you don’t particularly want to talk about it?” George raised an eyebrow across at Matty, watching him tuck his hair back behind his ears, before straightening his shirt out, pulling it further down his thighs, before putting his feet up onto the dashboard, as had much become habit for the two of them. “You should.” George added, perhaps on the off chance that Matty might have listened for once.

“Mmm…” Matty gave him a knowing nod, finally having directed his attention properly to George for the first time since he’d gotten in the car. “Can we talk about it tomorrow or something? All I’ve done for the past hour and a half is like talk about my fucking feelings or whatever… it’s weird. Therapy’s weird.”

“But you think it’s helping, though?” George held his gaze with the utmost concern, almost making Matty feel a little guilty about how little he found himself caring about his own well being in comparison to George. Of course, George had always worried about him, and that was that. He meant well at least.

“Yeah. It’s worth it.” Matty assured him, watching as George finally pulled the car back into the road, slotting them between two other cars as he began to drive off down the road. He had to accept that it had been by no means his idea, nor something he’d ever felt particularly inclined towards, but Matty found that it had been worth it regardless. It was that something about talking about your feelings when nothing seemed like it was at stake anymore, because as much as Matty did trust George, he couldn’t help but feel like everything mattered so much that it just complicated things in the end.

“Work was a bit shit.” George successfully steered the conversation over to himself after a minute or so. As much as he was certain of the fact that his day was just the least interesting thing anyone had ever experienced ever, he found himself prepared to go into great detail about it, just for Matty’s sake. “It was… I don’t know. It was  _ alright _ though, really. It’s just work, isn’t it? Not like you’re supposed to have the time of your life.”

Matty cracked a smile, his eyes desperately fixated on George’s every movement: ever so slight, and ever so meaningless - the way he blinked, the way his fingers grasped the steering wheel. Suddenly, Matty just couldn’t shake the feeling that it all did indeed matter. “It’s the weekend now, though, isn’t it?” Matty continued, having rather quickly come to realise that instead of responding he’d managed to zone out as he’d stared at George’s knuckles. “We don’t have to do shit for two days if we don’t want to. Could just lie in bed all day.”

“Lying in bed all day with you’d give me a headache.” George laughed across at Matty, meeting him with a look of vague amusement. Matty, of course, did little but roll his eyes, shaking his head at George in disbelief. “All you’d go on about is how you’re still finding crumbs from the biscuits I ate in bed  _ once _ . After, I’ve changed the sheets and everything?”

“I  _ am _ still finding those crumbs though.” Matty protested, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look at George’s expression. As much as he wanted to be even vaguely irritated with him, he could do very little to put a stop to the spread of a grin quickly across his lips. “I am!” He persisted, catching George shaking his head across at him.

“We couldn’t just lay in bed all weekend anyway.” George began, his sentence fading out as the traffic light they had stopped at turned to green, and George quickly came to realise that he’d spent much more time focusing on Matty than he had the light changes, and suddenly there was a sixty five year old woman sat in a bright yellow car behind them, seeming to be glaring directly at him, and seemed close to slamming her horn on the basis that George had been about six seconds slow in driving past a green light.

“Why not?” Matty asked, letting out a chuckle as the woman behind them did end up blaring her horn at them in the end, even as they had made it out into the traffic again.

“How fucking impatient can you be?” George groaned, glancing back briefly to catch the old woman still staring at them as if they’d purposefully ruined her entire life. George reckoned he would have told her to go fuck herself if she wasn’t almost old enough to be his nan, because that just felt a bit weird.

“Eyes on the road, babe.” Matty stressed, glaring across at George until he finally returned his full attention to driving. “I’d rather not get in a car crash and die at five p.m. on a Friday. Should wait until Sunday at least.” 

“We’re not gonna die. I’m an impeccable driver.” George assured him, although he was probably putting in just as much work to assure himself, but Matty didn’t have to know that. Of course, Matty already did, but George decided that maybe this wasn’t the time to focus on that.

It was just as George had announced his pride in his driving abilities that the woman behind them blared her horn again, as George had slowed to about fifteen miles an hour in the process of having a half hearted domestic with an only ever amused Matty.

“Fucking hell, love.” George lost all patience, half wishing that she could have heard him as he proceeded to rattle out profanities. “What can she possibly be in such a fucking hurry for?” George peered back towards her momentarily. “Late for your own funeral?”

“ _ George _ .” Matty raised his voice, grabbing his arm and pulling his gaze back to the road. “I don’t care if we’re in traffic, I don’t care if you think you’re literally the best driver that has ever graced planet fcuking Earth, I don’t want to die on the way home.”

“Sorry.” George mumbled, blushing a little. Once Matty was confident in the fact that George was now focused properly on driving, he leaned around his seat and towards the back window, flashing the old lady behind them his middle finger. Thankfully, however, she turned off onto a side road before she had the chance to react.

“I saw that.” George raised his eyebrows as Matty turned back to the front window. Matty couldn’t help but blush, to which of course, George only broke into a laugh.

“So…” Matty did his best to steer the conversation onwards, to where they’d been before George had pissed that old lady off so much in the first place. “What’s this about the weekend? That you were saying before you committed a cardinal sin of driving.”

“What? Waiting at a green light for like three seconds longer than necessary because your boyfriend’s being a distracting dickhead?” George scoffed, attempting to get back at Matty somewhat in all of this, but Matty just seemed to accept George’s description of him to be correct for the most part, because admittedly, it was.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Matty nodded in agreement, letting a small smile settle comfortably over his lips. “So what was this about the weekend?”

“Oh. Yeah.” George’s eyes widened as he came to recall just what had been the point of their entire initial conversation, that had wound up getting rather lost amidst George’s incompetent driving and Matty’s constant worry that it was going to get them killed. “Ross messaged earlier about having a catch up sort of thing. Like a drinks thing or whatever you want.”

“Why is he literally so middle aged?” Matty scoffed, rolling his eyes. Momentarily George did think to argue against him, but the more he thought about it, Matty did actually have somewhat of a point.

George instead decided just to shrug. “I don’t know. I mean I’m sure we could do something  _ else _ , he was just like drinks or whatever. So basically he just wants to grill you about how you’re doing.” Matty let out a groan, slamming his head back against the seat. “He’s trying his best. Come on, he only means well. You know that.” George reminded him, but Matty hardly seemed inclined to listen.

“So we’re going to go and be middle aged and discuss my life problems in excessive detail because we’ve got nothing better to do?” Matty raised his eyebrows, appearing largely unimpressed with how George had suggested that they might spend their weekend.

“I mean…” George trailed off for a moment. “Gemma did mention that we could go along to her friend’s party if we wanted it, but I don’t think you’d want to-”

“Can you stop rejecting all the interesting weekend plans on my behalf?” Matty requested, shaking his head at George. “Gemma’s other party was nice. I liked that. I mean I was like shitting myself half the time but that’s kind of a constant so it didn’t make much difference. It was nice.”

“It’s different to last time though.” George met his gaze, just for a moment. “It’s her friend’s party anyway. It’s one of those invite everyone you vaguely know kind of things. Like lots of people are going to be there. I thought you wouldn’t be all that up for that. And then it’s not like we can just cancel on Ross.”

Matty sat there for a moment, losing himself inside his own head, as he attempted to carefully evaluate and consider every option available to him. Clearly before him there was the logical option, and there was the stupid option, and he was very well aware as to why they were both just that, yet still, despite everything he thought he knew, he found himself drawn to the stupid option regardless.

“You know what?” Matty finally broke the silence with a whole new kind of confident tone in his voice. “Fuck it. Let’s go to that party, just invite Adam and Ross along as well. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” George stopped for a moment, not entirely sure if Matty was serious, but there was something in the way he spoke that made it apparent that he’d never been quite so sure about anything in his entire life.

Matty nodded, grinning. “Yeah. It’ll be alright, don’t you think?”

As much as George could already immediately see the future in which Matty was crying on their bed, defiant to never leave the house again, just five minutes before they’d have to leave, he nodded in agreement. The thing was that by now he was largely confident in both his ability to talk Matty out of those states, and in Matty’s ability to avoid them in the first place.

Things were getting better; there was no doubt about the fact that George could feel it too.

-

George’s talents when it came to driving also extended when it came to cooking, so of course, the two ended up having a particularly fancy and well thought out meal of Chinese take out in front of the TV. At least they didn’t have it in bed, they had that going for them, but it was likely that it was the  _ only _ thing they had going for them. 

Luckily enough for George, however, Matty wasn’t at all fussed with dinner, or the rubbish they’d pulled up on ITV2 of all places, and how George always seemed to find providing his own unique commentary on all of the ads one hundred percent necessary. Matty was just so very much caught up in George himself, and the way their hands lay intertwined, and they had been comfortable like this, sharing each other’s spaces for the past few hours.

Matty had noticed that George was tired earlier that day. It had been in his eyes when he’d first come to pick him up that afternoon, and very well reflected in his driving, not that Matty had complained more than he should have. Well… maybe he did complain a bit too much, but he figured George was just about used to it by now. Matty however hadn’t reckoned that George had been tired enough to end up falling asleep on the sofa by little more than half past nine that evening.

At first Matty had been reluctant to believe that George really was asleep and not just ‘resting his eyes’ or being a dickhead, or something. It was after Matty poked him rather forcefully on the arm a good six times, all with very little response, that he officially declared him to be asleep. He then, of course, found that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, and spent a minute or two just glancing between George and the TV, which they’d put onto mute in the background a good hour ago.

It wasn’t like Matty had particularly given George much of an opportunity to fall asleep, as they’d only really stopped talking so much around fifteen minutes ago, but despite what Matty thought of the situation, George was definitely asleep, and Matty definitely felt bad about waking him up. He reckoned it would have been better if he’d fallen asleep too - if they’d fallen asleep together, but it was half past nine and Matty had gotten up much later than George; his mind was only constantly buzzing with thoughts.

He took another few minutes to himself just to think, before stretching his legs out across the unoccupied part of the sofa and stealing a good portion of the blanket from George on the basis that if he was asleep he wouldn’t notice, and therefore he wouldn’t mind, because Matty was that kind of terrible person. Eventually he came to turn the TV off properly, for the sake of saving electricity or just for something to do - Matty wasn’t entirely sure, but regardless of that it was something he should have done. It was then that gaze just drifted across to George, and he watched him for a while, as weird as it kind of was. His intentions were good though, so that had to count for something.

It was after four minutes had passed that Matty came to conclude that George was on a whole new level of beautiful. He’d found himself becoming almost absurdly infatuated with the most simple things, for the knowledge that they all worked together: the little pieces that came together to construct George as a whole. It was the steady motion of his chest, as it rose and fell to gather slow, soft breaths of air, coupled with the way his hair had fallen, sticking up in a mess of angles, and falling back across the sofa cushion, and of course, the way his body seemed too large for the sofa entirely - the way his limbs were always too long and too wide, never quite fitting in positions as they should do.

It was after eight minutes has passed that Matty came to conclude that he was a whole new level of in love with George. It came with a thudding of his heart in his chest, like the frantic banging of a gong, like the pitter patter of the heaviest footsteps as they raced to reach him. He’d never been entirely  _ sure _ before, but this was it - without any form of doubt. This was it. It was the kind of sensation that he struggled to properly put into words, and it was that which let him know that it was real.

The sensation was overwhelming: his heart, his whole body, on fire, and burning a million different colours as he glanced upon George, as he pulled his eyes over his face, so peaceful, so content, as if he knew nothing of the world outside their living room, as if nothing could ever bother either of them again. Matty feel that; he believed it too.

He’d always imagined that it’d be a whole new kind of wonderful: a beautiful revelation that brought him the utmost clarity and comfort in himself and the person he would come to be, but it wasn’t quite like that at all. The realisation was overwhelming: crashing at him from all angles and coming close to smothering him entirely, and admittedly, Matty didn’t quite know what to do with himself at all anymore.

Within the next minute he stumbled to his feet, pulling the blanket back over George, because in hindsight, he did deserve it, even if he was already asleep, and made his way into the kitchen. He reached for the lightswitch, letting the cold air around him fall victim to the sudden injection of bright light into the room, painting the world around him in warm, golden shades of off-white that did little to reflect the mess that continued to unravel itself inside of his head. 

With little idea of what to do, he decided instead to fetch himself a glass of water, downing it all in within seconds, but he instantly found that he did feel quite a great deal better than he had before. It had slowed the frenzy of thoughts in his head for a moment, and for that he was grateful. He poured himself another glass and took a moment just to breathe, before sitting down at the kitchen table and doing his best to keep his head firmly on his shoulders, for the time being at least.

Matty found that he wasn’t quite sure what was going on in his head at all, because this had been a good thing, this had been a beautiful thing, this had been a good feeling, he had been happy, and suddenly he found himself falling right in the direction of a panic attack. He concluded that a panic attack was not something he wanted to have at half past nine on a Friday night because he properly realised just how in love with his boyfriend he was. It was a bit pathetic, really.

What he needed to do was just  _ talk _ to someone about it, get those feelings into words, and begin to understand what it was that had formed up inside his head. That would make him feel better; he was certain of that. The problem in all of that was however, the fact that he couldn’t exactly go and talk to George about all of this. Well, he could, but it was different. George wasn’t the person  _ he _ needed to talk to this time, because George already knew, George already understood, and what Matty needed to do this time was explain his feelings to someone in the hope that it would allow him to properly understand them himself.

He let another minute pass before he pulled his phone from his pocket, pushing out onto the kitchen table and proceeding to just stare at it for a moment. At first he didn’t have the slightest idea as to who it was that he should call, but once it had hit him, the answer appeared so unbelievably obvious that Matty just didn’t know how he’d managed to miss it. The answer was, of course, his mum, who’d gone on for too long without knowing a thing about the mess Matty had managed to get himself into over the past few months. There was also the fact that she was his mum, and Matty could put his trust in the fact that she’d succeed in making him feel better about this all, because that was all that he needed in that moment.

Matty leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out across the kitchen floor, as he finished his second glass of water, finding that his head had already cleared a little. Still, regardless of how much better he might suddenly have begun to feel, he resorted to calling her regardless, because it wasn’t just about Matty needing her to help him make sense of his head, she needed to know. This thing between him and George had rather suddenly become rather important, firmly crossing the line over into the category of things his mum did need to know about.

“Matty?” Her voice came across as, at first, surprised, more than anything else, likely wondering just what her oldest son wanted from her on a Friday evening, especially since the two didn’t nearly call as much as they should have done, or as much as they used to, even. Matty’s relationship with his family had been one of the many that he’d found himself neglecting over the course of the beginning of the year, but he could explain and apologise for that later, perhaps when he next saw her in person, perhaps when George wasn’t asleep on the sofa in the next room.

“Mum.” A sigh escaped his lips as he took a moment to himself, unsure as to just how he ought to begin. “Can I talk to you about something? It’s kind of… uhh… important. And I kind of should have told you about it all sooner, but it’s kind of complicated and I was in a bit of a state and-”

“ _ Matty _ .” She cut him off as he resorted to spitting his words from his lips as quickly as possible, almost as if they were toxic or something. “Slow down, alright?” She thought for a moment, attempting to do her best to assess what kind of situation he might have been referring to, just from the few words he’d caught over the phone.

“Yeah…” Matty trailed off, letting out a sigh. He sat back in his chair, stretching his legs further across the floor, before finally lifting them up into the chair opposite his. “I kind of just… had a bit of a realisation, like… I don’t know… it’s made me feel a bit weird, because it just feels so  _ real _ , overwhelming… really…”

“And what’s this?” She urged for him to continue, unable to quite figure what this all might mean from the very little Matty had given her so far.

Matty didn’t want to just spit it out, although that was definitely the most simple and indeed obvious of answers, it just felt like all too much at once, and perhaps not the best way to go about things, but in the end, he found himself so awfully stumped for alternative ideas that he came to wonder if just spitting it out was just about the only way he could go about explaining it. 

He could spit it out and then frantically backtrack and explain himself and hope his mum didn’t ask entirely too many questions all at once. So basically, he could make it up as he went along and hope for the best. There was no question about the fact that it just wasn’t the best of ideas, but still he proceeded with it regardless, because the silence continued to drag on, and it was only a matter of time before the heavy weight of the truth held inside his chest began to eat him alive from the inside out.

So in the end, he went with the perfectly constructed logic of ‘fuck it’, and took a deep breath, putting it in the plainest terms he could muster. “I’m like really properly in love with George.”

That was when everything suddenly came flooding to his head like a white hot burning sensation: a horrified rush of anxiety and looming possibilities that only grew and multiplied a million times over in the silence that followed. He hadn’t really considered how she might react before, not properly at least, not like he’d ever considered it to be something that would really happen, but here he was, here they were, the words were out now, and there was little left to be made of the silence that remained between them.

“Properly.” He added with a sigh, rubbing his eyes as the silence continued to settle in around him. “I’m in love with him. I was for a long time now, and I did know that, but tonight was the first time I properly  _ felt _ it. Felt it like it was a real tangible thing that I couldn’t avoid. That I couldn’t hide anymore. I ended up hiding a lot of this… I didn’t mean to, I don’t know… things just happened. It’s a bit complicated.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s complicated - you should explain.” His mum spoke up for the first time since he’d let it all slip out, and really her tone was far more calm, far more at ease with all of this than Matty could have ever anticipated. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that in all honesty. “I’m listening, Matty. Go on. Start from the beginning.”

And so, with a deep sigh, with a feeling of relief beginning to spread up through his veins and into his chest, before ending up right inside heart, Matty did just that. “I didn’t know what it was at first, but it was like autumn last year and George sort of began to mean… not  _ more _ to me, I don’t know… just… something was different, slightly somehow, and I didn’t know what that meant so I just ignored it, but I definitely still felt it. Then in December something actually started to happen, we had a sort of vague thing, but it was all wrong, we did everything the wrong way, we were both scared and unsure of ourselves and it fell apart. It was him that really ended it but it’s not his fault. I don’t think it was his fault, even though everyone I know told me to blame him, but we’d never talked about it at all, there were no ‘rules’, I never once said he couldn’t go around kissing girls at parties, so he did, and then I kind of fell apart.” 

Matty swallowed hard, finding it a little difficult to recall those memories, and especially to explain them to his mum, because although she was his mum, and he trusted her with everything, it was that trust and that closeness that made things harder sometimes, because there was just always so much that he was so afraid to lose.

“If you had a… thing…” His mum began, feeling a little awkward responding with the terms he had used. “Then surely he would have assumed not to kiss her? That it might hurt you somehow.”

“I don’t know.” Matty shrugged, having decided that he was largely over it by now. There was nothing either of them could do to fix the past, and it was just best to move on and leave things as they were. “It was New Year, everyone was pissed, and I guess she was kind of cute, and you  _ do _ kiss people at New Year, I mean at midnight, like I kissed this girl at midnight, but he was proper sucking her face off and it was fucking disgusting, and then he dated her for like four months. Maybe he did love her a bit, I don’t know, but I feel like it was initially just to prove a point to me. I don’t know, it’s all a bit messy, and we’ve moved on from all of that. I think he was just a bit scared, about the whole sexuality thing. I think I was too.”

“Four months is… that’s…” She found that she didn’t quite know what to say. “Just to prove a point to you. That doesn’t even sound like George. He cares about you more than that.”

“I think he loved her a bit. Quite a bit maybe, but only in the middle, not at the start, not at the end.” Matty let out an odd choked off kind of sigh, finding that obsessing over every detail of George’s feelings towards Saffy wasn’t perhaps the best way to spend an evening, but still here he was, and he had to admit that just saying it all aloud, making all of it real, did help in a way he just couldn’t even put into words. “I pushed him away anyway. I didn’t let him care about me. I was horrible. I wouldn’t let him try. I wouldn’t let anyone try. I pushed everyone away for so long. I couldn’t accept the way things had happened and the way things were. I got myself into a right proper state I did. It was bad.”

“You should have told me, Matty.” The concern became immediately evident in her voice, and Matty had of course come to accept such a response from his mother, as it was, of course, only natural. “You should have told me. I’m your mother-”

“I should have.” Matty nodded, biting down on his bottom lip hard, wondering how long he’d have to do so before it began to bleed. “I should have.” He repeated himself, louder this time. “But I didn’t. There’s nothing I can do about that now.”

“Why?” There was no avoiding the upset become evident in his mother’s voice, as they both rather quickly came to realise that the issue here had never really been with George, but with Matty himself, and the way he’d struggled to come to terms with himself and articulate his feelings over the past months. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I was scared.” Matty admitted, words turning to stone as they passed through dry and cracked lips. “I was so scared of everything. Of what people would think, of the fact that I’d fucked up. I was scared of the person I’d let myself become.”

“Matty-” His mum began, and Matty could feel the presence of the whole comfort and reassurance speech right behind her lips, but he just couldn’t take it, not in that moment, he just didn’t want to delve on that kind of past anymore.

“No.” He interrupted her, his voice louder, forceful, and she came to accept the sudden change and understand it in a way that he had never imagined that she could. “Don’t.” He continued, voice now softer, pleading, almost, desperate, even. “It’s okay.” He assured her. “I’m alright now. I promise. Things are good now. Let me tell you how things got better.”

“Alright.” She calmed the nerves that had previously been evident in her voice, and gave her silence as a prompt for him to continue.

“George came back. It sounds a bit… I don’t know… stupid, cliche, maybe? But that was how everything put itself back together. I didn’t want anything to do with him at first, I was pretending I hated him, because sometimes I was even convinced that I did, but it was just that I couldn’t deal with the way things had gone down, and that he was happy with her, and that I’d let things end up like they had, because by April, I’d dug myself into so much of a deep hole that I couldn’t even imagine climbing back out of it again.” Matty paused for a moment, giving himself time to think. “George broke up with her. They kept having fights, and it was all a mess really, and then he came back. He just turned up one day when I came home. I wanted to scream at him. I did. I cried first really, that was a bit pathetic. It was all a mess really, because I wanted him back, I wanted everything back like I’d never wanted anything before, but I just couldn’t let myself give in. I couldn’t get myself to trust him again. We had a lot of arguments at first, and then he finally began to give up again and said he’d leave in a few days, but I just… I couldn’t deal with that, I couldn’t lose him again. That was how things changed.”

“He means a lot to you.” His mum let out a sigh, beginning to properly understand, to wrap her head around the mess that Matty had spent the past few months in.

“He does.” Matty nodded in agreement, finding that George meant things to him in words he just couldn’t express, so he came to conclude that perhaps there were just some things you shouldn’t try to put into words, because some things just didn’t need to be spoken aloud. “And then we talked about things  _ properly _ . I think I was the most honest with someone I’ve ever been in my whole life. It was weird. It was so weird, but that was how things got better, because we managed to make sense of things, make sense of ourselves.”

“And now you’re in love with him? And you don’t know what to do?” She asked, doing her best to pick up the pieces Matty had given her, and slot them together in the best way she could.

“There’s nothing to do, I think. I just had to talk about things… it was just a bit overwhelming. It helps to talk about things, Ross was right about that. Don’t ever tell him I said that, he’ll never shut up about it.” He gave way to a smile. “I mean, George knows already. I knew already. It just sort of hit me properly tonight. We had takeout in front of the telly, and now he’s fallen fast asleep on the sofa, bless him. He’s just…  _ George _ , really.”

“George knows?” She laughed a little, rather amused by the parts of the conversation Matty had somehow managed to leave out in all of this. “What do you mean?”

Matty couldn’t help but blush a shade of bright red; he’d never been more thankful that his mum couldn’t see him at that moment in time. “Yeah…” He trailed off, unable to stop a grin from slotting itself firmly upon his face. “Things are good now, you know? Since we talked about things… and our…  _ feelings _ … and… yeah… he’s like my boyfriend.” Matty felt his cheeks growing only a brighter shade of red as time went on. “Well… he’s not  _ like _ my boyfriend. He  _ is _ my boyfriend.”

“So this was one of those things that you never really thought to tell me about?” She couldn’t help but find herself a little agitated with that. “What did you think I was going to say? Did you really think I was going to mind? I’m hardly even surprised, Matthew, it’s not like you haven’t practically adored him since the moment you met.”

“ _ Mum _ …” Matty groaned, burying his head in his hands, finding that this was perhaps the exact reason he had been so hesitant to tell her in the first place.

“Alright, I’ll shut up. You should come home and see us, the both of you, sometime whenever you can. So you can introduce him properly as your boyfriend.” She suggested, grinning widely at the concept. It was all rather sweet honestly.

“What because you’ve never met George before?” Matty rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You just want to embarrass me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” She burst into a full blown laugh. “Do you even know me at all?” Matty rolled his eyes, nowhere near as irritated as he wanted to be, but life was just far less about keeping up appearances than he’d once thought it to be.

-

“You fell asleep so early last night.” Matty was leant against the kitchen counters, idly drumming his fingers upon the countertop, as he waited for the kettle to boil. “And woke up so late.” He continued, shooting George an unimpressed glance as he finally got out of bed and made his way into the kitchen at noon.

George stretched, letting out a yawn that Matty couldn’t help but roll his eyes at, before making his way across the kitchen towards him. “I was tired.” He offered as his only explanation, his tone of voice reflecting his words, as they came out in a messy mumble of a sentence. “I needed my sleep.”

“Yeah.” Matty nodded, retiring to simply watching George open the fridge door, scanning its contents, before pulling out a yoghurt. Matty’s face fell - it was one of the nice yoghurts, that George had told Matty had gone off, but had instead hidden on the top shelf, out of Matty’s sight and reach.

“What?” George turned to meet Matty’s face: all raised eyebrows and disbelief, as he looked between George and the yoghurt in his hand. “Oh…” George finally caught onto just what Matty was referring to, and found a blush seeping onto his cheeks. “Yeah…” He bit his lip, his mind whirring as he did his best to imagine what kind of response he could tackle the situation with.

“That’s not fair. You can’t  _ hide _ the nice yoghurts from me.” Matty shook his head in disbelief, turning suddenly back to his cup of tea as kettle finished boiling. “Babe, can you pass the milk a sec?” He turned back to George, who was yet to release the fridge door from his grip, as if he hadn’t been seconds away from initiating a full blown argument simply on the subject of yoghurt. “Or are you hiding that from me too?” He added as George continued to blink rather blankly at him.

That seemed to bring George back to life, as he made quick work of rolling his eyes at Matty, before pulling a bottle of milk out of the fridge and placing it down on the countertop beside Matty. He watched for a moment as Matty finished making his cup of tea, and with a moment’s thought, and a deep sigh that may or may not have been a little regretful, he reached back up to the top shelf of the fridge and got Matty one of the nice yoghurts too.

Matty’s eyes flickered to it on the countertop beside him and George watched as his lips curled up into a smile; as simple as it was, George just couldn’t deny that he was beautiful. “Get me a spoon as well, won’t you, babe?” He added, beginning to stir his tea, leaving George to completely give up on asking Matty not to call him ‘babe’, he instead just accepted the way things were and reached into the cutlery drawer, grabbing spoons for the two of them. 

“Thanks love.” Matty smiled, taking both the tea and one of the nice yoghurts that George had definitely been hiding from him, over to the kitchen table, openly preparing to ignore the fact that it was now ten past twelve, so therefore officially afternoon, and he’d already had breakfast, and was even beginning to think about lunch.

“I’m sorry about hiding the yoghurt.” George admitted, sitting down in the chair opposite to Matty, and meeting him with a lazy smile as he held his face in one hand. “You do just eat it  _ all _ .” Matty shrugged, knowing that George was probably right. “Like, I swear to god, once you ate like four in one day.”

Matty pouted, giggling a little as his cheeks flushed a rather prominent shade of red. “It’s nice yoghurt.” He mustered in his defense. George only grinned, rolling his eyes. “Sorry about eating the yoghurt.” He finally came to apologise, leaning back in his chair and meeting George’s gaze.

“Sorry about falling asleep so early last night.” George met him with another apology, but it was of course something that he didn’t need to apologise about even slightly. “And sorry about getting up so late this morning.” He continued, blushing a little as Matty couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“It’s fine.” Matty began to protest, but George rather quickly came to shake his head, seeming rather eager to argue otherwise, which did surprise Matty quite a bit at first.

“I feel bad.” George admitted, leaning over so he was closer to Matty. “When did you go to sleep?” He asked, wondering just how long he’d left Matty up on his own.

“About eleven?” Matty shrugged, finding that he wasn’t entirely sure himself. “Half eleven? Something like that.” Part of him wished he could have missed the quick flash of upset across George’s eyes. “It’s  _ fine _ . It was only two hours. I was  _ fine _ .” Admittedly, Matty was stretching the truth just a little on that last point, but he had ended up okay in the end and that was what counted, wasn’t it?

“Were you?” He met Matty’s eyes, making no secret of the fact that he was less than convinced of Matty’s words. Either George was just unnecessarily paranoid or an expert in reading Matty’s mind. Perhaps there was hardly a difference between the two at all; maybe it didn’t matter even slightly.

“I called my mum.” Matty decided to avoid directly answering George’s question entirely. “I talked to her about some things. I needed to really. It was alright, I promise you.”

“Alright.” George gave a nod, still a little unconvinced, but deciding that if Matty had talked to his mum about it then it had to be dealt with, so in that regard at least, it had to be okay. “Are you still alright about that party tonight, then?” He held Matty’s gaze with more force than he had before.

“Yeah.” Matty’s face gave way to a smile. “Course.” He continued to assure him. “I promise.” And perhaps for the first time, Matty did really mean it.

-

It was around nine that night that the two made it to Gemma’s friend’s place, who they had learned was called Hannah, but George was largely confident about the fact that Matty had forgotten that within about five seconds of being told it. Still, he wasn’t sure that it mattered all that much considering the amount of people he saw approaching the house, however he did quickly begin to wonder if this might have been a bad idea, but as he turned to Matty he found that he was far too engrossed in conversation with Gemma to even notice. 

The two had picked up a bottle of wine from Tesco on the way there, which George had been certain was a terrible idea, but Matty hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d left the house, so he decided that it couldn’t be that bad after all. He was just left to decide if he preferred severely drunk Matty to uncomfortable on the verge of having a panic attack Matty. They were both just about equally as messy to deal with, but just in different ways. In the end he opted for drunk Matty on the basis that if he was drunk he might be happy at least.

It wasn’t that George wasn’t planning to drink that night at all, or had something against having fun, it was just that he found himself very conscious of Matty and the situation he was putting himself into, and what might happen if he got to drunk and George wasn’t there to keep an eye on him. Perhaps George was just overthinking things - Gemma was there as well after all, and even when he’d been sober, Matty had been confident mostly confident in himself.

George found himself coming back to reality as Matty latched onto his hand, and gestured to Gemma, who was making her way down the street a little way. “She’s getting John. Do you remember John? He’s nice as well. He’s the one with the long hair.”

“Yeah I do.” George nodded in response, watching as Gemma, who was definitely more drunk than Matty was, drag John down the street towards the two of them. “Gemma’s quite pissed already, isn’t she?” He commented, unable to stop himself from being a little concerned about her.

“Yeah.” Matty nodded, reaching up and pulling his hair back into a bun. “She drank most of the bottle, to be honest. I only had a bit. I don’t want to get that drunk. Just a bit tipsy, you know?”

“Me too.” George told him, finding himself perhaps overly relieved to hear so. It was as Gemma and John approached them and Matty pulled away from him to say hello to John, that George’s phone vibrated in his pocket, notifying him of a new text message. “Hey guys.” Once he’d read it, he looked back up at the three of them. “Can we wait a minute for Ross and Adam, they’re going to be a minute?”

“Yeah alright.” Matty nodded, smiling across at John, before attaching himself to George again. He then proceeded to watch as Gemma lit herself a cigarette, wondering if he might try to bum one off her, or if he should just ask George for one later, because admittedly, he was alright at the moment. He found that he didn’t actually have long enough to properly debate that one with himself before Ross and Adam arrived, and then the six of them made their way inside.

Just how loud the music was only really hit George once they were inside, and with Matty’s hand still held tightly in his, he decided that they might make their way to the kitchen and get a drink instead, because as tipsy as Matty was, George found that he was still disgustingly sober, which had been alright once they were outside, but just didn’t cut it inside at all.

They’d managed to lose Gemma, John, and Ross on the way to the kitchen, but George decided that they were probably fine and that the chances of them dying within the space of a minute were very low, so decided just to grab himself a drink instead of addressing the situation.

“When Ross gets back do I get to give him a fatherly talk about wandering off without permission?” Matty asked, taking the liberty of perching himself on the end of the countertop, kicking his legs in the air and getting far more amusement out of it than he really should have.

Adam snorted, rolling his eyes at Matty, before joining George in grabbing a drink. “If you want.” He added, wondering if Ross might appreciate the humour in the situation in the same way that he had. Either way, he reckoned that it would be decently funny. 

Unsatisfied with Adam’s response, Matty turned to George, who was a little too preoccupied with looking through different cans of beer to give Matty a proper response either. “ _ George _ .” He whined, pouting across at him, and catching Adam rolling his eyes out of the corner of his eye, and did consider calling him out on it, but Matty would probably have rolled his eyes at himself if he could so he didn’t think he could really blame him.

“What?” George asked, finally turning to face Matty.

“Should I go lecture Ross about wandering off without permission?” Matty’s lips turned up into a grin as he came to imagine the prospect.

“ _ Absolutely _ .” George’s response came without a second’s thought, the smirk was quick to follow. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.

Adam stood a little behind him, forever rolling his eyes at the two of them.

-

In the end, Matty couldn’t get hold of Ross for quite long enough to really make a bad decision, which just had to be disappointing for everyone involved. Matty was a little too drunk to care by this point, definitely now finding himself on the drunk side of tipsy, although he’d argue it was just the tipsy side of drunk, and that the two were one and the same. It didn’t matter for all that much; he felt safe, he felt warm, he felt alive, he felt okay.

What Matty did manage to find of Ross was a glimpse of him from across the room, sat drinking with John and Gemma, of whom John was incredibly engrossed into their drunken conversation, as if perhaps nothing in the world had ever held so much beauty and meaning, whereas Gemma seemed somewhat bored, her eyes trailing off around the room as she sipped from her drink - now some noxious coloured cocktail that was likely just as foul tasting. 

Matty had gotten a little lost in watching the scene from across the room, finding that his mind was slow to move into action and decide just what he should make of the situation before him. He didn’t get a chance to come to a conclusion, however, as his thoughts came to halt in the very moment that Gemma’s eyes met his from across the room. She flashed him a lazy smile, before getting up, finishing her drink, and putting it down beside Ross and John, who did seemed far too involved in one another to even notice her slipping away over to Matty.

She met him wordlessly, as the two were very well aware that from where they stood the music was just too loud, the world to bright and vibrant around them: too many people, too much noise, for them to exist as two singular people and not as part of a crowd, part of a moving body of people, part of the rest of the world. In that room they were indistinguishable, made of the same skin and bones and everybody else, and Matty found comfort in that, in belonging to something, belonging somewhere, and momentarily losing himself.

Still he didn’t relent as Gemma lead him outside into the back garden, the two of them sitting down on the patio, a closed glass siding door muffling the noise from the house behind them. The quiet and the cool air was a whole new kind of refreshing, like pulling your head up from the bottom of a lake to take a gasp of air at the very last moment, and thriving in the sensation of your lungs being filled completely, from bottom to top.

“I don’t think they’d even noticed I’d gone.” Gemma was the first to speak as she stretched her long, skinny legs out across the patio steps. “Funny that. Didn’t see the two of them getting along that well, but here we go. My presence was no longer needed.” The two shared a small laugh that was more to the alcohol in their bodies than any real sense of amusement between them.

“I think sometimes Ross forgets that he’s not my mum.” Matty began, reaching a hand up to his head and beginning to idly twirl a strand of hair around his fingertips.

Gemma let out a genuine laugh at that one, her face properly breaking into a grin. “You do let off this whole lost puppy vibe an awful lot of the time, you know?” She met his gaze, suddenly careful not to upset him somehow, but Matty just gave her a shrug, perhaps coming to agree with her half way. “I feel like you kind of need someone with you, looking after you.” She continued, her voice quieter than before, as she looked down at the patio, tracing patterns in the dust with her index finger.

“I guess.” Matty found that he didn’t really want to agree with her, but also that most of all, he was just consumed by the reality of the matter which was simply that he just didn’t know himself well enough to make that kind of judgement. Instead he chose to respect her observation, figuring for some part at least that it definitely held some truth. “I feel a bit lost sometimes.”

“You looked a bit lost back in there.” She continued to tell him, eyeing him carefully as she watched his face crease a little, folds fading into view as his face fell into what might have begun to resemble a frown. “I was a bit lost too, if I’m honest.” Gemma added, doing her best to pick up the pace of the conversation again, although she had to admit that she didn’t entirely know what she was doing, and the fact that she was definitely quite a bit drunk by now didn’t seem to help matters at all. “Didn’t really know to do with myself, third wheeling over there.”

Matty laughed at that, letting his gaze follow the dark blue evening sky across the garden, over the lawn, and into the hedge at the back. “I’m not lost, not really. I’m alright. I’m just drunk. Don’t tell George I said that, to him I’m only  _ tipsy _ , but I’m drunk, and that’s… that’s okay. I’m happy, I feel safe, I feel good. I think George won’t believe that sometimes, honestly though I think I don’t believe myself sometimes, but I am getting better. This is proof.”

“I can tell.” Gemma gave a nod of agreement. “It’s nice to see you. Seems like there still is some good in the world, don’t you think?”

Matty scoffed, even coming to rolling his eyes a little. “I wouldn’t put me going out and not having a mental breakdown as the source of all the good in the world. It’s a bit of a pathetic achievement really, but it’s an achievement, and I’m going to be proud of myself.”

“It’s not pathetic.” Gemma told him, her voice making sure that he caught just how certain she was of it all. What she didn’t get to ensure however, was that Matty understood why, for it was just as she was about to detail her answer with an explanation, that the door opened behind them, and George made his way out into the garden.

“You alright?” He turned to Matty, choosing to ignore Gemma completely for the time being. Once Matty gave him a nod, he sat down beside him, glancing across at Gemma, but finding he didn’t quite have time to say anything to her before Matty fell across his chest and into his lap, grinning up at him like he was the most wonderful thing in the world, and well, to Matty, he was.

George couldn’t help but  _ giggle _ at that, letting it slide on the basis of what he’d drunk, and brushing Matty’s hair from his face with his fingertips. “Did you find Ross in the end?” He continued to ask him, wondering just what the outcome of that could have been.

“No.” Matty shook his head, turning across to Gemma, as if she was somehow much more qualified to explain, and not just feeling an awful lot a third wheel for the second time in the space of about fifteen minutes. “Well I did  _ find _ him… but…”

“He was a bit preoccupied.” Gemma finished for him. “You guys better watch out for Ross and John, honestly.” She let out a laugh that seemed to rather quickly fade into a sigh as she got to her feet. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” She added, before making her way back inside and leaving the two in the peace of each other’s company.

George and Matty ended up sitting in silence for quite a while. It was however, a comfort silence - one that they both could share, and for that, it was enough. Enough being all they might need at that moment, and as Matty had found himself longing to live forever and only in the moment, it felt an awful lot like all that he’d ever need.

“I feel weird.” Matty was the first to speak, his thoughts coming to fade out into reality as the lines between his head and the real world began to blur with the alcohol in his system. “Like maybe it’s because I’ve drank a bit much, but… I don’t know, I’ve just got this feeling. Maybe it’s the drink.” 

“You’ve not drank that much.” George told him, reaching for his hand and wrapping his fingers around Matty’s. “I mean you’ve drank more than you have recently, but it’s not much. You’re alright. You don’t need to worry about it.

Matty gave a nod in response as he began to absent mindedly pick at his fingernails. “I just have this feeling though. I don’t know. It’s just…  _ odd _ … like I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s definitely… it’s  _ definitely _ there.”

“I kind of get what you mean… I…” George thought for a moment: unsure if he was actually beginning to feel what Matty was, or whether it was just a side effect caused by how much he desperately wanted to have every answer that Matty might need and ask for.

“I don’t know…” Matty mumbled, lost up in his own head for a moment. “something like, something like this is all too familiar, like we’ve been here before, but we’ve not, because this is the first time we’ve been here, and I don’t understand it. It’s the not understanding it that’s making me feel a little bit sick.” He admitted.

“If you feel sick, Matty, we can go home, you know-” George’s words came out all too quickly, perhaps before he’d even thought about them. That didn’t much matter in the end, because Matty didn’t quite give him time to finish.

“No, not yet.” Matty shook his head, cutting George off with what George had expected might be an angry retort, but was in actual fact, little more than a gentle murmur. Matty couldn’t escape the odd feeling about it all, but he just didn’t want to move right that moment, because there was just something about it all that was becoming clearer as time went on. 

It was suddenly as they faded back into silence that it came to Matty. “We have.” His voice suddenly grew louder than either of them could have anticipated, and George opened his mouth to speak, but the confusion expression painted so clearly on face had already done all the talking. Regardless, Matty didn’t even let him begin. “We  _ have _ been here before. Not specifically  _ here _ .” He just to the ground to signify their specific location. “But… emotionally  _ here _ , having such a similar conversation.”

George thought for a moment, finding that Matty was right - he couldn’t avoid that, but he still couldn’t quite place what Matty had specifically linked it to. “Yeah. I get you. I can’t remember when though. I can’t remember what it was.”

“It was last November.” Matty continued, glancing out across the garden, before finally pulling his eyes up to the sky. “I remember because I wrote about it. Everything from back then doesn’t really seem real unless I’ve put it down into words. But it was late November, and I’d drank too much at a party and I felt sick, and you wanted to take me home, but I didn’t want to go, because I just wanted to stay there in your arms forever. That was the beginning, because I loved you, I always could feel it, but I just didn’t know it yet.”

Matty sighed, coming to remember how in that moment he’d found himself glimpsing at what it had been like to be truly alive, to feel whole, but only briefly as he’d sat with George. The more he thought, however, the more he came to realise that it was this moment, as he sat in the present, out on the patio with George in early June, that he did now feel truly whole, not just with George, but whole as his own person -  _ truly _ alive. It was then that he realised that this was how he should have let himself live, he shouldn’t have been scared, he shouldn’t have repressed anything, this was how he should have let himself be, despite what he’d always told himself.

Finally, as evening properly became night, and George’s grip around him loosened, but still he felt he could breathe just the same, he could be just the same, he came to realise, that here he was, with all preconceptions, and fear stripped away from him, this right here was the person he’d always been from the start.

-   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this story, i really enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoyed reading it even half as much. all your comments and kudos mean a lot sorry I'm not really that... i don't know i don't like post authors notes on here or reply to comments much i feel a bit self conscious sorry lmao. but i love u guys thanks.
> 
> if you wanna follow me on tumblr or twitter theyre both geogredaniel. bit of a self spon there. lmao. probably gonna write more george/matty shit in the future I'm gay for them dw.


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